Moments
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: A peek into the moments that make life worth living. GSR
1. Bets

Disclaimer: Characters within do not belong to me. And they never will. Sniff.

Author's Notes: This little conversation just kind of came to me in the shower the other day and I needed to get it down. It kind of went from there, and I'm thinking of turning it into a little series of short stories. We'll see. Enjoy!

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

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"Nick!" Greg skidded into the break room with a fistful of cash and a wide grin on his face. "Am I too late?"

The older CSI checked his watch and shook his head. "I told you I was closing it down at ten p.m. sharp. Cutting it kind of close here, Greggo."

"C'mon! I had to run up the street to the ATM since you wouldn't take a check."

"You wouldn't show me two forms of ID." Nick laughed at Greg's frustrated expression. "Yeah, you're in time. What are you in for?"

"Thirty bucks on the fifteenth," Greg replied, waving three ten-dollar bills proudly.

"The fifteenth? That's tomorrow, Greg."

"Your point being…"

"No one's got any money on any day before the twentieth."

"So? I'm a rebel. A rebel with an inkling."

"Hmm. More like a rebel without a clue." Nick shrugged. "But hey, it's your dough." He snatched up the money and added it to the large wad of cash already accumulated in a small metal box. "You're officially in."

Greg dug into the fridge, searching for the soda he'd hidden at the start of the shift. "How much is the pot up to?"

"Five hundred."

"Damn."

"Yeah, Warrick kicked it up with a hundred dollars on the twenty-sixth."

Popping open his drink, Greg sunk back into a lounge chair. "Risky. The actual day."

"Well, that's Warrick. Personally, I put my money on two days behind schedule. Statistics." Nick finished scrawling down Greg's name and his contribution, then looked up with a frown. "But you know, he is better at this than the rest of us."

"Better at what?"

As Grissom entered the room, Greg shot to attention, nearly spilling his entire soda onto his shirt. Nick scrambled to close up the box. Grissom watched them, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses.

"I repeat, who's better at what?"

"Hodges," Nick blurted out. "He's better at…"

"Line dancing," Greg supplied.

Nick threw him a look. "Line dancing than us."

"I should learn not to even ask," Grissom muttered as he headed for the coffee machine. "Where are we on the DNA from the bite wound, Greg?"

"Mia's running it." He paused. "Hey boss, how's Sara doing?"

"She's good," Grissom replied, hiding a smile behind his "Bugs Don't Bite" coffee mug, a present from the woman in question. "A little restless."

Nick nodded. "Sounds like Sara. Is she still pissed that you banned her from the lab?"

"I did not ban her," Grissom corrected him. "I merely pointed out the inherent risks and we made the decision together, rationally."

Greg coughed. "Yeah. Sure. 'Cause we all know how rational Sara is these days."

"I have no compunctions about telling her you said that."

"Ha!" Nick pointed to Greg with a taunting finger. "Someone's gonna get it."

A beeper suddenly went off and each man grabbed his own.

"Not mine," Greg announced.

"Me either," Nick said, reattaching his to his belt.

Grissom frowned at his pager. "Not mine either."

The beeping continued.

"Grissom," Greg said. "It's coming from you."

The coffee mug nearly fell to the floor. He made a grab for it at the same time as he dug into his jacket. With trembling fingers, Grissom pulled out a second beeper, the one that was going off, and checked it.

When he looked up, his face was pale. "It's happening." Moving quicker than Greg had ever seen him move, Grissom dropped his mug in the sink and ran for the door. He stopped and turned around. "Tell Cath…"

"We've got it covered, Gris," Nick replied. "Go! Hurry!"

Grissom bolted out of the break room, just as Catherine entered. He barely took note of her, even as he nearly knocked her over.

"Where's the fire?" Catherine asked the two men.

"The baby beeper went off. Sara's in labor."

"Oh my god." Catherine's eyes watered. "Wow." Her moment was broken by Greg as he broke into a happy little dance. "Um…what's with him?"

Nick cursed under his breath. "He's got tomorrow in the baby pool."

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To Be Continued (if people want to read more) 


	2. Distractions

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me. Period. End of sentence.

Author's Notes: Well, the majority speaks and I have decided to continue the little series. Please enjoy this second helping with the same relish you did the first! And thank you;)

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Moments 

by Kristen Elizabeth

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"You know, being pregnant isn't so bad." Sara looked at Grissom. "Maternity clothes have come a long way. And I have my own personal table top, perfect for plates or books." She rubbed the huge mound of her stomach. "I could stay this way forever, really." 

"Chicken," he accused her.

"I don't deny it." She inhaled sharply.

Grissom took her hand. "Another one?"

"Big one," she hissed. Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed his fingers until the pain began to subside. "Damnit…that hurts." Sara opened her wet eyes. "You really won't let me quit?"

"Sorry," Grissom apologized. "We're in this for the long haul."

She sighed. "Fine. But you're staying right here with me. I mean it."

He kissed the back of her hand. "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

With the contraction mostly gone, Sara let herself relax against the starched hospital pillow. "I need a distraction."

"Well, you're in luck." Grissom released her hand only long enough to dig into the small suitcase of her things. "Oh…wait."

"What's wrong?"

He pulled out a thin journal with a sheepish look. "I grabbed the wrong one."

Sara read the cover with narrow eyes, "_The European Journal of Entomology_."

"It's still an interesting read." Grissom pointed to the headline. "'Dispersal of females and differentiation between populations of_ Epirrita autumnata_ inferred from variation in mitochondrial DNA.'"

"You're trying to put me to sleep, aren't you?" she accused.

"Well, the doctor did say you should try to rest."

"Ha. I'd like to see him try to sleep with something the size of a watermelon pushing on his…"

Grissom cut her off. "I also brought _The American Journal of Physics_." He pulled it out and read the cover. "'Measurement of the electrical conductivity of metallic tubes by studying magnetic screening at low frequency.' That could be distracting."

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think I want to read something completely brainless."

He blinked. "Really?"

"Why so surprised?" Sara asked.

"It's just that awhile back, Catherine suggested something. I went along with it just to get her off my back." Grissom reached back into the suitcase.

Sara couldn't hold back a laugh at what he brought out. "_The Weekly World News_? Wow. Sweetie, how painful was it for you to buy that?"

"Extremely. But she said it was the only thing that kept her sane while she was in labor with Lindsey. Something about the sheer absurdity. Should we give it a try?"

She watched her husband extract his glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. Ever the scientist that she adored. He opened up the paper and began to read.

"'A worldwide toilet paper shortage looms…'"

Sara closed her eyes and let Grissom's voice lull her into a much-needed nap.

* * *

To Be Continued 

A/N: That's a real headline from the online version of the WWN. Yeah. Really. Like I could make that up.


	3. Visitors

Disclaimer: Alas, these characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the sweet feedback. This little series is turning out to be a lot of fun to write! I hope you keep reading and enjoying.

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

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Greg's first thought upon entering the private maternity ward was that he hoped he wouldn't be back for quite awhile. There was just a little bit too much pink, even for someone like him who was quite comfortable with his feminine side.

"Can we just go in?" he asked Nick as they walked down the long corridor. "What if she's…indecent or something?"

"We do plan to knock." Warrick took the stuffed bear they'd purchased away from the younger CSI. "You're about to twist the thing's head off, man."

"Babies make me a little nervous," Greg explained. "I'm always afraid I'll drop them. There was an unfortunate incident with my cousin when I was a kid. I'm still not supposed to hug her and she's almost twenty."

Nick checked the door numbers. "Catherine said room 811, right?" He stopped and Greg slammed into his back.

"I'm not being your third stooge," Warrick declared as he side-stepped the pile-up. "This is it."

Nick grimaced. "Yeah, that's why I stopped."

Greg flashed Nick a weak smile. "Sorry."

Warrick knocked on the door and a moment later, Grissom answered. But this wasn't the man they were used to seeing around the lab. Gone was the tired expression on his face and the little lines around his eyes that signaled another long night dancing with death. This Grissom seemed lighter, happier, and almost exuberant.

It was creepy.

"Come in," he said, ushering them inside. "But be quiet. Sara's sleeping."

Greg let Warrick and Nick go in first. He wasn't entirely sure of his place in this situation. He would be interacting with his boss in a totally foreign environment, one that was usually very private. He had just become a parent a mere matter of hours earlier. Grissom was now a father.

Well, Greg thought, at least the world hadn't come to an end. Yet.

Nick was the first to point out the warming bassinet on wheels that had been pulled up alongside the bed where Sara lay peacefully dozing. "There she is," he said, amazed.

Grissom nodded with a goofy grin that just creeped Greg out even more. "Rosalind."

"Family name?" Warrick asked.

"No, we named her after Rosalind Franklin. The molecular biologist who helped discover DNA, but never got any of the credit for it," Grissom said. "It was Sara's suggestion." He reached down and carefully picked up his infant daughter. The little girl opened her mouth in a tiny yawn, then promptly fell back asleep in her father's hands.

"She's beautiful, Gris," Nick said. "Congratulations."

"Congratulate me," Sara said in a sleepy voice. "I did all of the work."

Grissom frowned. "We woke you, honey. I'm sorry."

She shook her head against her pillow. "It's all right." Her smile was tired, but positively angelic. "Doesn't my husband look even more handsome holding a baby?"

Warrick chuckled. "I'm gonna pass on that question." He set down the teddy bear and took Sara's hand. "You did a good job, girl."

"She's got a lot of hair," Nick noted, eyeing the dark lock peeking out from underneath the baby's pink cap.

"She gets that from me," Grissom said with pride.

"Here's hoping she gets your eyes, too," Sara added. She held out her arms, and Grissom carefully placed their baby in them. "We still haven't settled on a middle name, though. What goes well with Rosalind?"

Greg's response was sudden. "Emilie." Everyone except the baby looked at him. "Well, if you're continuing with a theme, she was a French scientist who spoke six languages by the time she was twelve. She translated Newton's writings from the original Latin." He took a breath. "She also had an illicit affair with Voltaire."

Grissom arched one eyebrow. "Please don't use the word 'illicit' in conjunction with my daughter ever again."

"Rosalind Emilie Grissom," Sara mused. "It's not too much of a mouthful, is it?"

"Not for a future Rhodes scholar," Warrick assured her.

"You can call her Lindy," Greg offered. "Or Roz."

The new father grimaced. "How about we just call her Rosalind?"

"Whatever we call her, Catherine will be upset." Sara smiled. "She wanted us to use her name."

"Maybe next time," Grissom said without thinking.

His wife's expression turned from motherly to deadly. "Next time?"

Nick cleared his throat. "You know…we should let you get some rest."

"I didn't mean…" their supervisor tried to cover.

Sara cut him off. "Fourteen hours of active labor, Gil. Fourteen hours of constant, excruciating pain."

"You said it was worth it. Honey," he added for good measure.

"It was worth it, but if you think I'm going to be up to repeating it all over again anytime in the near future…"

"Yeah, we're gonna go now." Warrick tugged on Greg's shirt, yanking him towards the door. "Congrats and…good luck."

Grissom held up his hands, fending off the hormone-fueled attack. "It was a simple slip of the…"

Greg stuck his head back through the door. "Hey, sorry," he interrupted them. "I just gotta say…thanks, Sara."

"Thanks?" she puzzled. "Thanks for what?"

He grinned, thinking about the five hundred dollars in his wallet. "You and Roz have got great timing."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Bonds

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Had to get this out before I go out for my birthday date. I'm 25 today; I'm old, according to everyone. I don't feel it;) Well, enjoy this chapter and thanks for all the kind feedback thus far.

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

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"Oh my god…"

"Isn't she the most precious thing you've ever seen?"

"Adorable. Absolutely adorable."

Usually, the sound of a half-dozen women fawning over a baby was something Warrick avoided like the proverbial plague. But that day, as he rounded the corner on his way to pick up his messages from the front desk, he gravitated towards the noise, rather than away. Because at the very center of the flock of female employees was Sara.

"Hey there, Momma," he greeted her after parting the crowd.

Sara accepted Warrick's kiss on her cheek with a smile and a whispered, "Thank you," for saving her from the estrogen overload.

He looked down at the carrier in her hands. "Baby's first trip to the lab?"

"It was bound to happen sooner rather than later."

Warrick marveled at the little girl sleeping soundly in the cushioned carrier. At three weeks old, Rosalind was showing every indication of taking after both her mother and her father in terms of looks, at least. Her hair was Sara's, straight and dark brown, but her skin was already taking on the golden tone of Grissom's. All in all, she was a beautiful baby, and Warrick predicted that his boss had better keep in shape as he aged because when Rosalind grew up, he would have to fend off boys with a stick.

"You're both looking pretty good," he told Sara. "No one would believe you gave birth under a month ago."

"It's still going to be awhile before you see me around here in my old clothes," she answered with a blush. "But thanks."

Warrick leaned across the front desk to accept a few message slips from Judy, the receptionist. "I assume you're looking for Grissom?"

"I thought we'd stop by and say hi, but really I just needed to get out of the house," she confessed. "I can't take any more soap operas or inane talk shows."

"Sure, I can imagine." He paused. "I hate to tell you that you made the trip for nothing, but your hubby's out in the field. 419, I think. He took Greg." She looked a bit disappointed at this. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Sara nodded. "I just…well…I miss work." She smiled down at her daughter. "I love being at home with her, but I can't help but miss the puzzle. The chase. You know."

Warrick chuckled. "Look who you're talking to here."

"Right." She glanced around. "Well, I guess we should be going then."

"I don't think so." He held out his hand for the carrier and Sara handed it over with a confused frown. "If Catherine knew I let you get out of here without stopping by to see her, I'd be on decomp duty for a month."

Sara's nose crinkled up. "Got it."

She followed him down the familiar hallways, pausing occasionally to smile at a waving co-worker. The last time she'd been in the lab, she'd been seven months pregnant and had attracted just as much attention for it, if Warrick remembered correctly. There had even been that day when she'd fashioned a sign that read in bold red marker "Keep your hands to yourself" and stuck it to her protruding belly to ward off the overly-curious. She'd never live that one down.

They stopped in front of Catherine's open office door. "Guess who came to visit," Warrick announced their arrival.

Catherine looked up from a lab report with annoyance that quickly melted into a matronly smile. "Hey there." She abandoned her desk and immediately took the baby from Warrick. "Hi, precious," she cooed. "Don't you look adorable in that outfit?"

"Thanks," Warrick told her, pulling at his black shirt. "But I've worn this before."

Sara rolled her eyes at both of them. "You knew she'd look adorable when you bought it. And I'm still not sure how I feel about my daughter wearing something that costs more than some of my own clothes."

"Lighten up, Sara." Catherine gently eased Rosalind out of her carrier and lifted the baby to her shoulder. "One little jumper from Baby GAP isn't going to turn her into a fashion snob. Is it, darling? No, it's not," she answered her own question as the baby slept on. "Your mom still has plenty of time to ruin you with her questionable fashion sense."

"Take this." Sara dug into the diaper bag she carried over her shoulder and handed Catherine a soft, white cloth. "Unless spit-up on silk is in this season."

Having learned from experience, Catherine draped the cloth over her shoulder. "How's she doing?"

At this, Sara beamed like a true and proud new mother. "Just this morning I think I saw her smile when I was changing her."

"That's great," Warrick said.

"No, that's gas," Catherine corrected him.

"Whatever. It was cute," Sara replied, firmly.

The older woman nodded. "And how are you doing?" She raised an eyebrow. "Going stir-crazy yet?"

"No. Well, not really." She paused. "A little."

Catherine nodded again and gave her a cursory once-over. "Your boobs are looking great, by the way."

Warrick winced. "If the talk is going that way, I am out of here." He gave Sara another kiss on her cheek. "Good to see you, girl. I'll be around."

Once he was gone, Sara answered, "They're huge! I feel like a walking Barbie doll. Totally out of proportion."

"Hey, enjoy it while it lasts. Once you wean her, you'll be missing them. And so will Gil." Sara's face grew red and Catherine couldn't help but laugh. "Of course, you know, Miz Scarlett, you're never gonna be a B-cup again."

"Yes, I've read the books." She hesitated, as though she wanted to say more.

"Ask me anything, Sara. You can't shock me."

Another moment passed before Sara worked up her nerve. "When you had Lindsey, did you go ahead and…um…pick up…things with Eddie as soon as it was okay?"

Catherine sat down at her desk and readjusted Rosalind against her shoulder. "No way," she replied.

Relief seemed to flood through her co-worker. "Really? Because next week we're supposed to be able to resume…um…things…"

"Sara. You had a child together. It's okay to say the word."

"Sex," Sara blurted out. "The doctor said to wait a month, but I don't see it happening. I'm always tired and I feel more like a milk machine than anything else." She bit her lip. "But I want to make him happy…"

Catherine shook her head. "You always have. Look, this is one area where you're going to have to put Sara ahead of Gil. If you're not ready, it's not time, no matter what some doctor says. And don't worry about your husband. He lived the life of a monk for years before you two finally worked things out. He'll survive another couple of weeks or months, whatever it takes."

"How long before you were ready?"

"God, it's been so long, I'm not sure." She thought for a moment. "Two months, maybe? I remember there being at least that many issues of _Playboy_ in my house at the time, to keep Eddie occupied." She grinned wickedly. "Should I pick up a copy for…"

"Thank you, no," Sara cut her off.

"Just trying to help."

Sara arched one eyebrow. "I'll pick them up myself."

Catherine laughed, inadvertently waking up Rosalind. Her little face scrunched up, signaling the onslaught of some serious wailing. "Uh-oh, time for Mommy."

Sara took her daughter just as the screams started. "Shh, baby girl," she soothed. "It's okay. Mommy's here."

It was hard to believe that at one time, she hadn't been able to picture Sara with a family. But as it turned out, underneath that tough shell she presented to the world, she was a loving and nurturing woman. She'd never lose the balls she needed to work in a man's field, and for that Catherine was glad, but with her daughter, Sara didn't need to be one of the boys. She could just be a mother.

Rosalind's cries faded as Sara gently rocked her. Her cloudy-blue, newborn eyes looked up at her mother and to Sara's delight, she flashed a brief grin that was all gums.

"She did it again!"

This time, Catherine refrained from raining on Sara's parade. "She's a smart one. Well, look who she gets her genes from."

Sara glanced up at the older woman. "Was that a compliment? Are we having a bonding moment?"

"Co-worker to co-worker, nah." Catherine flipped her hair over her shoulder with a smile. "Mother to mother…we just might be."

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To Be Continued 


	5. Genes

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone for all the great reviews. This chapter's for the peeps who wanted Daddy-Daughter bonding:)

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Moments 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

For eight hours, Grissom had been surrounded by the surreal silence of death. But the moment he turned the key and entered the house he shared with his wife and daughter, he was thrust back into the land of the living. 

Whether he was ready for it or not.

Rosalind was crying, no, screaming at the very top of her lungs, not the most comforting welcome in the world. He winced as he shrugged out of his jacket. Even at only three months old, Rosalind was a very subdued baby; she usually only voiced herself when she was wet, hungry or lonely. Each of those problems had distinctive screams associated with them. This didn't sound like any of her normal cries.

"Sara," he called out. "Where are you?"

"Upstairs," she called back, her voice muffled by their daughter's.

He took the stairs two at a time and headed straight into the nursery, the source of the ear-splitting noise. "Sara?"

She looked up as he entered. "She just won't stop crying, Gil."

Still in work mode, Grissom quickly analyzed the scene. His wife was seated in the wooden rocker in the far corner, her hair starkly dark against the creamy yellow wallpaper. Her eyes were red, wet and puffy as though she too had been crying. She cradled Rosalind in her arms as she frantically rocked back and forth. Grissom had seen her this way only once before, after thirteen hours at a crime scene without finding a single piece of evidence. Sara was on the verge of a frustrated breakdown.

"I've tried everything," she stammered. "She's not wet. She won't eat. She's not running a fever. She had a decent nap earlier. She doesn't need anything! All she wants to do is cry."

He approached them carefully. "How long…"

"The past five hours," Sara sniffed. "I paged you."

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm here now."

"I don't know what to do." Her cheeks glistened with fresh tears. "I just don't know."

Grissom hesitated, but only for a brief moment. "Here." He took Rosalind from her; the baby just kept screaming, her tiny face bright red with effort. "You go take a bath, okay?"

Her hands shook as she pushed herself up out of the chair. "But she's crying."

Grissom had to raise his voice to be heard over their daughter. "Sara, you need a break. I can listen to her crying just as well as you can."

She glanced back and forth between them before biting her lip and nodding. "Okay." Reaching out, she brushed her fingers over Rosalind's soft locks. With a weak smile, Sara headed out of the nursery.

"Well," Grissom said once she was gone. "It's just you and me now." Rosalind wailed. "Sweetheart, you're not supposed to hate my company until you're a teenager." He shook his head as she shrieked. "I get it, no bad jokes." He looked around the immaculate room. "Where's your blanket? Ah, there it is." Grissom retrieved it from her crib, but as soon as he draped it over her, Rosalind's screams reached a frightening crescendo. "Okay, no blanket."

How had Sara survived five hours of this all on her own? Five minutes hadn't even passed and he was already weary. Maybe he was too old for this. He'd had that particular thought before, many times if he was honest with himself, all throughout Sara's pregnancy. But he'd always come to the same conclusion. So what? If he was too old to be a father, then he was too old to do anything else. And since he had no plans to stop working, he couldn't justify not starting a family with the woman he loved.

Still, if he were Greg Sanders' age, he might have had the patience to simply wait for Rosalind to tire herself out. But he wasn't. He was a fifty-year old scientist with a screaming baby and an exhausted wife.

It was time to hit the books.

Twenty minutes later, Grissom found himself balancing Rosalind in one arm and a thick copy of _What To Expect The First Year_ in his free hand. He frowned at the book. "Colic? Is that it?" He looked down at his daughter. "Is that the problem?"

Because all she replied with were more screams, Grissom quickly scanned the information on colic. Gas, pain, long periods of crying…but how did he make it stop?

"Keep the baby moving," he read out loud. "Not effective. Wrap the baby snugly in a blanket. Not effective." He sighed, blinked to relieve his tired eyes and kept reading. "Take a shower. The warm water may be comforting. Hmm."

Grissom glanced at Rosalind once more. She hiccupped suddenly, and for one precious second, there was quiet.

But only for one second.

He closed his eyes as the screaming picked right back up. "I'll take that as a sign."

* * *

Sara figured she had either fallen asleep and drowned in the tub and the silent house was really just heaven, or her husband had succeeded where she'd failed and successfully calmed their daughter. She wasn't quite sure which option she preferred. 

But did it really matter right then? No, she decided as she lounged in the lukewarm, sudsy water. The house was quiet, sweetly, blissfully quiet. Even her headache was fading away. She wasn't about to question how it happened.

She let herself relax for another minute before her curiosity got the best of her. She reached for a fluffy towel and dried herself off before securing it around her body. Without bothering to get dressed, Sara went in search of her family.

The master bedroom was empty, as was the nursery. Puzzled, Sara started down the stairs. "Gil?"

It was the sound of water that caught her attention; it was coming from the bathroom just off the first-floor guest bedroom. As she approached, she heard her husband's voice over the shower. A wide smile lit her face. He was singing.

She crept into the steamy bath just in time to hear Rosalind giggle, seemingly delighted at her father's off-key voice.

"Laugh at me if you will," he said to the baby. "But don't expect any musical talent of your own. It's not in your genes."

Sara drew the shower curtain back. "Now, don't be so sure of that. I think I have a cousin who plays the tuba." Grissom turned his head to see her. "Showering with another woman?" she teased.

Rosalind batted at her father's wet beard with her tiny fingers. "The book said it would help," he explained. "Care to join us?"

Sara watched them for another moment, the two most important people in her life. Rosalind was all smiles, even buck-naked and propped against Grissom's shoulder, a far cry from the screaming terror she'd left him with earlier. "Help with what?"

"Colic. I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I believe that might have been the problem."

Sara bit into her lip. "Colic. I should have thought of that."

"Sara…"

But her emotions were running too high for her to be reasonable. "I'm a horrible mother!"

"Hey," he warned. "That's my wife you're talking about."

"What kind of a mother can't even figure out that her baby might be colicky?"

"The kind who hasn't had a good night's sleep in months?"

Sara folded her arms over her towel. "I've never needed sleep before."

"Well, honey, before…you weren't breast-feeding an infant every couple of hours," he reminded her. A moment passed. "Join us?" he asked again.

It took another few seconds for her to let go of the towel. She stepped into the shower and let the warm spray rain down onto the back of her neck. Rosalind cooed, a sound that usually made her heart overflow with joy. "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered to her daughter. "You were in pain and I didn't know."

"Sara, stop." The words were gently spoken, yet quite firm. "There wasn't much you could have done."

"You figured it out."

"I just happened to be the one holding her when the gas worked its way out of her system," Grissom corrected her.

Sara brushed away a tear. "I'm such a wreck right now."

"You're just tired." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "You're a wonderful mother, Sara. Even if you don't feel like one right now." She covered his hand with hers and closed her eyes. "What you need is sleep."

"What about you?" she mumbled.

"I'll sleep when she goes down." He glanced down at Rosalind. Her little eyelids were drooping almost as much as her mother's. "Zero to sleep in thirty seconds," Grissom said. "She gets that from you."

Sara was too exhausted to argue back. "I'll put her to bed."

"No, you'll put yourself to bed." Grissom turned the shower off. "You don't have to do it all, Sara."

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "If there's a father gene, you've totally got it. I always figured you did, you know?"

Balancing the baby, he draped towels over both of his girls' bodies. As he tucked the warm fabric around Rosalind, he stopped short. He hadn't known that. "Always?"

"Always," she affirmed with a sleepy nod. "You hid it pretty well though. I had to…look deep to find it." She yawned. "But it was always there."

"Thank you," Grissom whispered. He lowered his head to brush a kiss across the downy top of his daughter's head. "For looking…for finding it. For helping me make use of my father gene." Clearing his throat, he put his arm around her slender shoulders. Surrounded by his family, Grissom smiled.

It was good to be in the land of the living.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Tidings

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Thank you so, so much for all the feedback. It's flattering that people are enjoying the stories. Everything I know about babies, I learned from my surrogate niece, Ali:) She's almost two and a half now, and she's still teaching me that I really want to wait a long time before I have kids of my own.

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Merry Christmas, man."

Balancing a precarious stack of presents in his hands, Greg turned to see Nick striding up the sidewalk after him. He had only one bag in his hand, a considerably lighter load.

Greg nodded. "Yeah, yeah, Yuletide blessings and all. Give me a hand, will you?"

Nick shook his head, amused. "You never learn, do you?" He held up his bag from Barnes and Noble. "Gift cards. Easy, light and guaranteed to please."

"Just take the big one," the younger CSI pleaded. "The one on top."

With a reluctant sigh, Nick grabbed the large, brightly wrapped package. "Is this one for Sara? She's married with a baby, man. We call that 'off the market'."

"Did someone get a lump of coal in his stocking already?"

"Just not feeling very Christmassy," Nick explained. "Ecklie turned down my vacation request. Catherine has seniority and a kid; Warrick doesn't have to travel to get home. So I'm stuck on call for the whole holiday."

"Bah humbug," Greg said, sympathetically.

Nick scowled. "This will be the first time ever that I won't be able to go home for Christmas."

"Sorry, man. If it helps, I know a joint on the Strip that has a great Christmas show. Naughty elves…"

"Thanks, Greg. I'm sure a lap dance from one of Santa's helpers will totally make up for the lack of my mother's special eggnog."

Greg shrugged. "It always works for me."

Having reached their destination, Nick pressed the doorbell with his elbow. "If anyone asks, I'm flying to Dallas next week. I don't want any pity Christmas Eve invites."

"Your call."

The front door of the impressive, two-story house opened just then, blasting them with warm, cinnamon-scented air. Sara smiled at the two men, her eyes sparkling. Nick couldn't help but notice the return of her pre-baby figure, outlined so well by her fitted black pants and red sweater. Hey, he was only a man.

"Merry Christmas!" she greeted them. "Come on in. We've been waiting for you two."

Although he'd been to Grissom and Sara's on several occasions, Nick still hadn't gotten over the contrast between the house and the people who called it home. When Grissom had lived alone, he'd surrounded himself with cold, sterile colors. Grays and blacks with tiled floors and whitewashed walls. Sara's apartment had been colorful, but lonely, lacking any pictures of family or friends.

Their home together was nothing like either of their homes apart. It was large and airy, yet comfortable and personal. A person could get lost in the soft couches and sink into the plush rugs. The walls were filled with Grissom's butterflies and Sara's classical art reprints, interspersed with pictures of their blossoming family. Rosalind was featured heavily; it seemed like they'd documented, framed and mounted every moment of the past six months.

Decorated for Christmas, Casa del Grissom was like a living ad for some sort of family magazine. After shucking off their coats, Greg and Nick followed Sara into the living room where the lab's Christmas party was in full swing.

"Gift cards, Nick?" Sara guessed the contents of his bag with a wink as she indicated the enormous tree in the far corner of the room where Greg was already setting down his load.

"If it's not broke, don't fix it," he quipped. "Besides, I knew I'd never compete with Greg's monstrosities."

Sara watched the young CSI search for room for his presents underneath the decorated branches. "He does tend to go overboard. But it's sweet."

"Is the midget already asleep?" Nick asked.

Grissom came up behind him with Rosalind in his arms. "Little person, Nick."

The baby in question clung to her father, her head tucked just below his chin. He might have been biased, but Nick figured she was probably one of the cutest children he'd ever seen. He had some cute nieces and nephews, but none of them had Rosalind's clear, ocean blue eyes, a genetic gift from Grissom. With Sara's chocolate colored locks, Rosalind was destined to be a heartbreaker.

"Is she getting sleepy?" Sara asked her husband. "She's been passed around this party more times than the appetizers."

"Think she could stand one more pass?" Nick held out his hands.

Being a good-natured child, Rosalind accepted the transition without complaint. Nick shook his head, amazed. "She just keeps growing."

"According to all the books, that's what they do," Sara laughed. "You should see her crawl. In fact…put her down for a second."

"But keep an eye on your shoelaces," Grissom warned.

Nick knelt down and placed the baby on the carpeted floor. Rosalind looked up at him and then her parents as if asking for permission. She pulled herself up onto her hands and knees…and took off.

On the other side of the room, Greg was busy placing all of his gifts into prominent places underneath the Christmas tree. He was most proud of the biggest, the one he'd searched every toy store in Vegas in order to find. He wasn't quite sure if Grissom and Sara's baby was old enough to make use of a PlaySkool "I'm a Scientist" play set, but in a couple of months she probably would be. The box had big pictures of little kids playing with oversized, plastic magnifying glasses and peering into eyeholes on all sides of the table, looking at images of bugs and animals.

He grinned. "Beat that, Stokes. Your puny gift cards have no powers here!"

Greg brushed off his hands with much satisfaction and sat back on his heels. He was about to stand when out of the corner of his eye he noticed something coming towards him. Like the shark in "Jaws." He could even hear the music…

Rosalind crawled all the way up to him and sat up on her padded bottom. She stared up at Greg with wide blue eyes.

"Um…" He squirmed under the little girl's scrutiny. "Runaway baby," he announced. "Over here."

She blinked and held out her chubby arms. He wasn't fluent in baby, but Greg was pretty sure what she wanted.

"No, you don't want me to pick you up," he explained. "I have a history of dropping babies. And your daddy is my boss. I drop you; I'm on the streets, analyzing DNA for quarters."

Her rosy lower lip quivered.

Out of the blue, Catherine approached, a martini in her hand. "Just pick the child up, Greg. Sheesh. She's had her shots."

Gin and Catherine were not a nice combination, he decided. Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, Greg reached for Rosalind before the tears that filled her eyes spilled over. He lifted her up awkwardly, holding her at arm's length. Her little legs dangled in the air.

"Try giving her a little bit of support," Warrick advised as he passed by. "And remember, babies can smell fear."

"Yeah, thanks." He hesitated, searching for the best way to reposition Rosalind without dropping her. He finally decided on bringing up his knee underneath her while resting her on his chest in order to get his arms around her better.

It was a good plan and it probably would have worked for someone who had an ounce of coordination.

Greg landed flat on his back on the carpet, desperately holding on to Rosalind to shield her from the shock of their fall. Stars danced over his head for a moment before he realized something. Rosalind was laughing. As he recovered, the little girl crawled up his chest. He wasn't sure of her goal until she grabbed a huge handful of his carefully arranged hair and pulled. Hard. Her gleeful giggle and his yelp of pain could be heard across the room.

Sara nudged her husband and pointed towards the Christmas tree. "Sweetie, look. Rosalind's playing with Greg."

"Okay, see, the hair's attached," Greg could be heard telling the baby.

Grissom winced. He knew all too well how much their daughter loved hair. And how hard she could pull. "Good thing he got a hefty Christmas bonus. It should cover the cost of the hair plugs he'll be needing."

Nick grabbed the camera that Catherine offered him and snapped a picture of Greg prying Rosalind's fingers out of his moussed spikes. He smiled, suddenly feeling much more in the holiday spirit.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	7. Celebrations

Disclaimer: Most of the characters contained within were not products of my own creation.

Author's Notes: I appreciate everyone who's keeping up with my little set of stories. Thank you, thank you. Enjoy this next part.

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Twin champagne glasses clinked together with a perfect, crystal chime.

"Happy anniversary," Grissom said when his glass met Sara's. "Here's to two years."

"Two years," she repeated before taking a sip of the bubbly liquid. "Mmm…the good stuff."

"You deserve the best." He watched his wife for a long moment. "When was the last time we shared a drink?"

Sara leaned back into the comfortable nook of her husband's arm and sighed. "Eighteen months, give or take?" She touched her glass to his for a second time. "Here's to having my body to myself again. No pregnancy and no breast-feeding."

"And no more double D's," he mumbled.

"How about I strap two ten pound weights over your shoulders and let you walk around with them 24/7 for a year and a half? Then we'll see if you miss them when they're gone."

Grissom smiled at her snappy response. "Forgive me, honey. I'm merely a man."

"Hmm. Forgiveness will cost you," she hedged.

"Whatever the price, I'll pay."

"Price to be determined at a later time. Right now, I'm going to enjoy my very expensive, long-awaited glass of champagne."

The fire laid out in the living room hearth was more for atmosphere than to ward off any chill in the air, but combined with the nearly forgotten heat of alcohol in her stomach, it seemed to warm Sara down to her very toes. He cradled her against his body on the soft couch; his chest apparently made for an ideal pillow. She snuggled closer.

So, this was what home felt like.

Grissom's chin rested on the top of Sara's head as he watched the fire dance in front of them. It was hard to believe that just a few years ago, his life had been devoid of the simple comfort of Sara. He'd never lit a fire in his old townhouse because there had been no one to share it with. And he'd certainly never spent over a hundred dollars on a bottle of champagne because he didn't enjoy drinking alone. As though she could read his thoughts, Sara burrowed deeper into his side with a soft sigh. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

Home felt pretty damn good.

Except for the expected awkwardness of their first time together, their lovemaking had always been as smooth as silk. They slipped into the familiar embrace simultaneously, without hesitation or unease. There was no need to move from the couch; like they were for each other, it was just right.

"I love you," Sara breathed into her husband's ear.

He murmured the same with each kiss he planted on the supple flesh of her neck before he gave up on words entirely. He never could think when his wife was writhing beneath him; it was all he could do to keep going, without stopping to wonder what such a vibrant, beautiful woman could possibly see in him.

Clothes were shed and limbs entwined. Sara looked up into his eyes, giving him silent permission to go ahead and…

"Mama."

The word was soft and staticky through the baby monitor, but it was enough to bring both of them to a complete stop at a most inopportune moment.

"Did she…" Sara's hand covered her mouth. "Oh my god…she called for me!" Her eyes grew misty with happy tears. "Gil, did you hear that?"

Her sudden switch from lover to mother had him deflating like a popped balloon. Grissom tried to smile, but it came out strained. "I heard."

Sara pushed on his shoulders, urging him to sit up. He had no choice but to do so, sitting back as she hastily pulled on the garments he'd taken such pleasure in removing only minutes earlier. "Come on!"

She was halfway up the stairs before he could protest. With a long sigh, Grissom gave in and reached for his pants. Rosalind was awake and had chosen this particular moment to start talking. The father in him was overjoyed.

The sexually frustrated husband, on the other hand, was slow to catch up.

He found her waiting at the door to the nursery; they entered together. The scent of baby powder was pleasantly strong and he was reminded that it had been but an hour since he and Sara had put Rosalind down for the night. She'd shown every sign of being fast asleep when they'd escaped to the living room to start their anniversary celebration. But now, she was wide-awake and lying in her crib, playing with her feet.

"Hey baby-girl," Sara whispered. "What are you doing still awake?"

She grinned up at them, displaying the sliver of pearl that made up her first tooth. It didn't appear to be causing her any pain, as it had when she'd first started cutting it. When he thought about how many more teeth were to come, Grissom involuntarily winced. Nothing, not even some of the most heartbreaking cases ever to cross his desk, was harder to deal with than hearing his daughter in pain.

"Mama," Rosalind declared, proudly.

"She knows me!" Sara exclaimed. "I mean, I know she knows me, but she knows what to call me." She reached into the crib to brush Rosalind's baby-fine hair back from her forehead. "Such a smart girl…I'm Mama and that's Dada."

"Mama."

Sara pulled Grissom closer to the crib. "Maybe if you say it, she'll catch on."

"It's enough that she's talking," he said. "One word in one night is…"

"Dada," she interrupted, pointing to him. "Rosalind, say 'Dada'."

"Mama," the little girl replied, still pulling on her tiny toes.

Grissom shook his head. "It'll come, Sara. It's all right."

But when his wife got her mind set on something, it was just about impossible to dissuade her. "Dada, Rosalind," she continued gently, but firmly. "That's Dada."

"Mama." If this exchange was a mirror into the future, the two women in his life were destined to butt heads. It was equal parts amusing and frightening.

Sara offered him an apologetic smile. "I tried, sweetie."

"Honey, she's talking. Our baby is talking." He gripped her shoulders with tender care. "We have that much more to celebrate tonight."

She nodded. "All right. I won't spoil this. I just don't want you to feel left out."

"I don't," he assured her. "We agreed a long time ago that we wouldn't push her developmentally."

In the crib, Rosalind let her feet fall back to the flannel blanket beneath her. Her little mouth stretched open in a yawn. "Mama," she babbled as her eyelids drooped.

They waited until her chest began rising and falling in steady rhythm. Grissom put his finger to his lips and slowly guided Sara out of the nursery. Without making a sound, he closed the door behind them and expelled a breath.

"She's getting so big," Sara whispered, her eyes misting over again. There was something about giving birth…it turned usually stoic women into unpredictable water-works. "She can already stand up. Pretty soon she'll be walking and then she won't even be a baby anymore."

Before she could start crying, Grissom pulled his wife into his arms. "Let's take this downstairs, honey. I had to work to get that fire started, you know."

She nodded and rubbed away her impending tears with the back of her hand. "We should enjoy it…while it lasts."

He was tempted to carry her to the living room, but it turned out to be unnecessary. Somewhere between the nursery door and the landing, Sara the Mother turned back into Sara the Lover. With a twinkle in her eye, she dared him to follow her, and promptly raced down the stairs.

The fire was still going strong when he caught up with her. Now in frantic need of each other, they missed the couch and tumbled onto the carpeted floor. The sound of Sara's throaty laughter instantly aroused him and he quickly got them back to the place they'd been before their daughter's interruption.

Sara ran her hands through his salt and pepper curls when he paused on the verge of joining their bodies. "Don't stop," she urged.

Grissom frowned. "I thought I heard something."

"Gil Grissom." Her tone was one of warning. "Don't even joke about…"

"Dada!" Rosalind's voice filtered through the baby monitor.

He blinked once, twice, three times. A wide grin spread across his face, highlighting the laugh lines around his eyes. "She did it!" Grissom exclaimed. "She said it!"

Her husband was on his feet and pulling on his trousers before she could react. Sara rolled over onto her side and propped herself up on her elbow, taking a moment to collect herself before she headed upstairs. Again.

Rosalind had a sense of humor along with bad timing. It was not a good combination.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	8. Steps

Disclaimer: CSI and characters do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: It's been awhile since I updated this. My apologies for the delay. Thanks for keeping up with the story, as well as for the kind comments on the previous chapters. Enjoy this new one!

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

It was one of those perfect days, the kind where it almost seemed like it should be illegal to stay inside. The sun was shining, but there was sufficient breeze coming down from the mountains to keep the temperatures low enough for the residents of Las Vegas to venture outside their air-conditioned havens.

It was an ideal day, Sara had decided, for a picnic at Lake Mead.

That was how Grissom found himself hauling one end of a massive cooler across the gravel parking lot, towards the clump of trees and the set of picnic tables his wife had picked out from the road. Greg Sanders was at the other end of the cooler, having been invited along by Sara when she found out it was also his day off.

"What's your woman hauling in here, Gris?" Greg panted. "Correction. What's she have us hauling?"

"I wasn't included in the menu planning," he replied, blinking a bead of sweat out of his eye. "I was informed that I would love the food and that I'd have to carry it."

The younger man shook his head, amused. "This is why I just date 'em. Marriage turns you into a beast of burden."

"Sara has you doing her grunt work every day. And you're not, need I point out, dating or married to her."

"Yeah, but I only do it 'cause I need the experience." Greg grinned at him. "Not 'cause I'm afraid of her."

"Of course not," Grissom said, dryly.

"Less talk, more walk," Sara called out to them as she passed by with Rosalind on her hip. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Even the cooler won't keep the food from spoiling eventually."

"Did she invite me for my unparalleled charm and wit, or just because she needed another pair of hands?"

Grissom didn't bother answering his question.

After what seemed like a lifetime, the two men let the cooler drop onto the grass. "Wherever it falls, there shall it be," Grissom sighed.

Sara had spread out a red and white-checkered cloth over the wooden table, and another one on the ground a few feet away. On their first trip from the car, they'd brought over the myriad of assorted things Rosalind needed for a day at the lake. Her portable playpen, an umbrella for shade, a high chair for when it was time to eat, and more toys than she could play with in the space of a week. For now, she sat in her mother's lap, pulling at the gold chain around Sara's neck that Grissom had given her when they were married.

"Dada!" Rosalind burbled, abandoning the necklace in favor of stretching her arms up at her father.

Grissom lowered himself onto the opposite side of the blanket and smiled at his daughter. "Come here, Rosalind." He held out his own hands.

Sara lifted the little girl out of her lap and planted her feet on the ground. Rosalind gripped her mother's fingers for support.

"Look at you, Roz," Greg marveled, sitting down on the edge of the picnic table. "Standing on your own two feet."

"Standing, yes. Walking…" Sara released her daughter's hands. Rosalind managed to stay up for a few seconds, before plopping onto her butt. "We're working on it."

Grissom plucked Rosalind up and lifted her into the air high over his head. She squealed with delight. "She'll get it," he declared. "Won't you, sweetheart?" Rosalind replied by patting her father's bearded cheeks when he lowered her back down.

"Almost every morning for the past week, she's been standing up in her crib when I come to get her," Sara told Greg. "The books all say that's a preclude to her first steps."

"I never bothered with walking. I went straight from standing to running." Greg leaned back against the table and folded his hands behind his head. "Thanks for getting me out of my apartment, Sara. It's a great day to be outside."

With Grissom looking after Rosalind, Sara started unpacking the cooler. "I heard about what happened with you and Kay. Figured you could use a distraction." She smiled at him. "I know from experience that there's nothing worse for heartache than an empty apartment."

He lifted his shoulders. "Wouldn't call it heartache exactly. More like…bruised pride. Although it's not her fault that she's more into Nick than me. Can't explain attraction, right?"

Sara glanced over at her husband as he tickled Rosalind much to the little girl's delight. "Nor should you try." She returned to her attention to Greg as she lifted plastic containers out of the cooler. "But you know Nick doesn't return her feelings, right?"

"Yeah, we talked about it." Greg turned his face up towards the sun's warming rays. "I'm chalking the whole thing up to water under the bridge. With a mental note not to get into relationships with QD girls again."

"What's wrong with…" she started to ask.

"Better to avoid getting involved with a woman who could forge your signature and get away with it."

Sara laughed and shook her head. "You're a nut, Sanders."

He beamed at her. "And you're secretly crazy about me, right?" She arched an eyebrow, and he backed down. "Withdrawn."

Sara's spread turned out to be just as good as she had promised it would be, and well worth the physical labor. There were even a few dishes that contained meat, although they did appear to be store-bought. Somehow Greg just couldn't see Sara baking a ham. Or even buying a ham.

Grissom and Sara took turns feeding Rosalind in between bites of their own lunches. Greg was fairly certain that more food ended up on the little girl's chubby cheeks than in her mouth, but she seemed enormously happy. It probably wasn't often that she had both of her parents' undivided attention for a whole afternoon.

When lunch was done, Grissom offered to help Sara clean up. Sensing what it was all leading up to, Greg jumped to his feet. "I'll help, too!"

"No, we've got a system." Sara fixed him with the same smile she used to get him to do anything from scraping bits of brain out of a shag carpeting, to being a test dummy in an experiment to determine how much weight would have to be on a man before he couldn't breathe from the pressure. "Can you look after Rosalind for a few minutes?"

His head ached. Specifically, his scalp. He'd just started to grow back the clumps of hair Rosalind had yanked out the last time he'd played with her. "Um…" He looked at the carrot-covered kid as she wriggled in her portable high chair. "Okay…"

"Women like a guy who can keep his cool around babies," she informed him as she stuffed dirty paper plates into a garbage bag. "I don't care if you're the most hardcore feminist on the planet, there's something undeniably endearing about a man holding a laughing baby."

Greg shot her a skeptical look. "I'm telling Gloria Steinem on you."

It took him a moment to gather his courage. Rubbing his hands together, he focused on Rosalind. "Here we go."

Rosalind let him lift her out of the highchair and allowed him to set her on his knee. But when he removed her bib and started wiping carrots off her mouth, she stopped being cooperative. Her little face scrunched up and she pulled away from Greg, whimpering in protest.

"Um…Sara?" Greg looked around; Rosalind's parents were already halfway back to the parking lot with the garbage bag. "Great. Just great." He looked down at the baby. She made a move for his hair, but he caught her little hand just in time. "No, no, Roz. I've got at least another ten years before it's Rogaine-time, and I intend to hold it off for as long as possible."

Rosalind blinked up at him, then made a grab for the next best thing, the band logo on his T-shirt. She grabbed a tiny fistful of cotton and laughed, gleefully.

"Is that your daughter?"

Greg's head shot up at the sound of a woman's voice. Turned out it was two women walking past the picnic table on their way down to the shore. They were clad in bikini tops and miniscule skirts and not much else. He cleared his throat. "No. She's…um…my niece."

One of them lowered her sunglasses and smiled at Rosalind. "What a cutie-pie! What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Rosalind Emilie," he answered for the baby. "I picked out her middle name."

The other girl gave Greg a much more seductive smile. "What a great uncle you must be."

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "I try."

"I'm Maria, and this is my sorority sister, Sierra," she introduced herself. "What's your name?"

"Greg," Sara called out as she approached the table. "Can you…" She stopped when she noticed the new additions. "Oh. Hello there."

"This is my sister, Sara," Greg quickly covered, shooting his co-worker a significant look. "Rosalind's mother. Right, sis?"

"Yep, Rosalind's mother and Greg's sister." Sara's smile was deadly and even. "I'm a lucky woman."

Maria tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Listen, we're meeting up with some people, so we've gotta go. But Greg…" She reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a pen. Grabbing his free hand, she scribbled her phone number on the heel of his palm. "Call us sometime."

Greg didn't blink for a full minute after the cousins sauntered away. "Wow. Hey, Sara, can I borrow Roz when I go out clubbing?"

"Did I just hear Greg say he wants to take my daughter clubbing?" Grissom asked as he rejoined them.

Sara slipped her hand into her husband's. "Apparently our baby makes for great girl bait, sweetie."

"Oh, I know."

It took her a second to react to his words. "You know!"

Greg grinned at his boss. "Let me guess. You took Roz to the grocery store and got hit on?"

"Grocery store, book store, post office…you name it. If she's with me, it's a buffet of indecent proposals." Grissom coughed when he caught Sara's deadly glare. "Just the facts, ma'am."

"How indecent were these proposals? I have to ask because it's not like I ever get any when I'm out with Rosalind. Men don't tend to hit on mothers."

"I would," Grissom said in an attempt to smooth her feathers. "Wait, I mean…if you were the mother and…"

Greg tuned out their discussion in favor of paying attention to the little girl on his lap. "I owe you one, kid. Phone numbers from frisky sorority sisters are hard to come by, even in Vegas." Rosalind tugged at his shirt; he took it to mean 'you're welcome.' "Let's try this whole standing thing again, shall we?"

Holding on to her hands, Greg lowered Rosalind to the ground, allowing her a few seconds to find her balance. Slowly, he copied Sara's movements from earlier and released her. Rosalind teetered for a second…then stepped forward. Then once more.

Greg's eyes grew wide. "Gris, Sara!" he shouted, interrupting them. "She's got it!"

* * *

To Be Continued 


	9. Awards

Disclaimer: Characters contained within (most of 'em) do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the sweet feedback on this, and my other CSI stories. I appreciate every comment, so much;) I hope this chapter is as enjoyable.

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Sara! Honey, have you seen my cuff links?" Grissom rifled through his wife's jewelry box as he called out to her. "Did you do something with them?"

Down the hall in the nursery, Sara was attempting to change her daughter's diaper and avoid getting anything that might be in that diaper on her brand new, midnight blue evening gown. "They're wherever you left them last," she shouted back. Lowering her voice, Sara continued to herself, "Maybe if you didn't rip them off the second you get home and took the two seconds necessary to put them back in their box, we wouldn't go through this every time."

On the changing table, Rosalind kicked her legs, making it as difficult as possible to secure the new diaper. "Mama, ba-ba."

"No, no bottle, Rosalind. Not until bedtime." With the mad skills of a mother, she finished her task despite her daughter's wriggling body. Reaching for the footed pajamas she'd selected earlier, Sara began dressing the little girl. "Gil," she raised her voice again. "What time is it?"

"If I say 'time to put a clock in the nursery,' how much trouble will I be in?"

Sara had to smile. She zipped up the jammies, swung Rosalind onto her hip, and walked down the hallway to the master bedroom. Her husband sat on the end of their bed, fastening cuff links to the wrists of his dress shirt. "Where were they?"

"Nightstand drawer."

"That's where you left them last?"

"No, that's where you left them last." Grissom tugged his sleeves into place and stood up. "If you'll remember, when we got home last time, you were the one who undressed me."

Her cheeks turned pink as she recalled that particular night. "It's the tux."

"Of course."

"Hey, you got lucky, buddy."

"Yes, I did." Careful not to crush Rosalind between them, he slid his arms around Sara's body and kissed his wife. "It's 7:15, by the way."

"No!" Sara turned her head to look at the clock; his second kiss landed on her ear. "Where's Stephanie? She was supposed to be here a little before 7:00."

Having struck out, Grissom gave in and took their daughter from her arms. "She's probably just running late. She's operating a difficult piece of machinery, Sara. Telling the difference between the accelerator and the brake is trying enough for the girl, without having to worry about the time, as well."

"All right, I get it. You think she's an airhead." Sara scowled at him. "Maybe we shouldn't trust our daughter to her care."

"In that respect, she's trustworthy." Grissom paused. "And at least when Rosalind enters pre-K in two years, she'll be able to help Stephanie with her homework."

That earned him another dirty look. Fortunately, the doorbell chimed just then. Still shooting him a glower, Sara headed downstairs to let the babysitter in.

When Grissom descended the stairs a few minutes later, with Rosalind over his shoulder, squealing happily at being carried like a sack of potatoes, Sara was just finishing up giving their sixteen year old babysitter instructions for the night.

"She can have the bottle in the fridge when she goes to bed; just warm up it in the microwave for a few seconds. The numbers are by the phone. I added the number of the Bellagio, in case we don't answer our cells for some reason. We'll be in the Bellagio Ballroom. Just ask for the American Society of Criminology event coordinator."

"Got all of that?" Grissom couldn't help but add.

Sara frowned at him. But when she caught Stephanie's overwhelmed look, she sighed. "I wrote it all down, too." She looked around, in case she forgot something. "That's just about it."

Stephanie smiled and held out her hands towards Grissom. "Come here," she said to Rosalind as she took her from her father. "There you are! Who's the sweetest little girl in the whole wide world?" Rosalind stared at her, but the babysitter went on, "Yes, you, cutie-wootie pie!"

Grissom winced at the baby-talk. One of the first decisions he and Sara had made after the pregnancy test strip turned pink was that there would be no baby-talk in the Grissom household. Apparently, Stephanie hadn't gotten that memo.

"We're in the middle of reading_ Lord of the Rings_ to her," Grissom informed the girl. "The book is in the nursery. She likes it when you use different voices for the characters. I tend to give Gimli a deep tone like…what am I saying…you've seen the movies."

Sara put a hand on her husband's arm. "Gil." She shook her head. To Stephanie, she went on, "You know where the picture books are. Just read one to her, or she won't sleep."

"Sure thing, Mrs. G." Stephanie bounced Rosalind on her hip as Gil helped Sara into her wrap. "Have fun! Congrats on the award, Dr. G!"

* * *

For someone receiving the ASC's Lifetime Achievement award, Grissom was surprisingly calm, a fact that did not go unnoticed, or unexploited, by his co-workers who'd attended the banquet under the guise of supporting their supervisor.

"So, Gil," Catherine started, leaning forward enough to display a bit of cleavage at the low neckline of her ruby-red gown. "Got a speech prepared?"

"I have a few things written down," he replied. Only the fact that he finished off a double scotch as he spoke gave away his underlying nervousness.

"He's been working on it all week," Sara came to her husband's defense. "I must have thrown out a hundred crumpled up drafts." She took Grissom's hand, sandwiching it between hers.

Nick laughed at this. "How many of 'em got past 'Good evening fellow criminalists'?"

"Hey, I was making the rounds earlier," Warrick spoke up. "Half of the people I talked to were entomologists, not criminalists." He slapped a hand on Grissom's back. "You're amongst your kind tonight, Gris."

"Half?" Greg swallowed. "God, he's multiplying."

Nick's date, a cookie-cutter blond, tilted her head to one side, puzzled. "What's an entomologist?"

Even Nick stared at her for a moment. Grissom smiled at the girl. "Do you happen to have a sister named Stephanie?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening." The emcee looked out over the ballroom as the ceremony suddenly began. "On behalf of the American Society of Criminology, thank you all for coming." There was applause, polite and short. "Tonight, we honor all of our members, whose talent, intelligence and tireless efforts apply science to law enforcement, and keep our cities safer. But there is one man in particular whom we recognize tonight. A man who has devoted thirty years to the study of forensic science, most of those years, right here in Las Vegas. If you've ever been faced with an insect infestation in your crime scene, you've likely referenced one of his numerous papers, or case files. He is a living legend in this community of scientists, and tonight we acknowledge his vast contributions to the field of criminology by presenting him with the ASC Lifetime Achievement Award. It is my pleasure to introduce Dr. Gilbert Grissom of the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

Still holding onto his wife's hand, Grissom stood up, surprised by the level of applause all around him. He squeezed Sara's fingers and reluctantly let go in order to walk to the podium. He could already feel the heat of the spotlight that was steadily trained on him as he approached the microphone. The emcee handed him the shiny, embossed plaque.

"Thank you, everyone," Grissom started. After clearing his throat, he extracted his glasses and his speech from his tuxedo jacket. Taking a second to slip the glasses on, and smooth out the crumpled paper, he went on. "It's an honor to be here tonight amidst so many of the brightest minds in the country, even more so to be singled out amongst them. Before I put you all to sleep, I need to take a moment to acknowledge the reason I'm standing here tonight. My team, my co-workers, my friends. The people who start their day at eleven p.m. and don't return home until the sun goes down again. Catherine, Warrick, Nick, Greg…if I had to be supervisor, I'm glad I got the best to supervise."

At the table, Catherine shook her head, smiling. "The man doesn't say much, but when he does, it's pretty damn insightful."

Grissom adjusted his glasses and looked out over the crowded ballroom. "But there's one co-worker I haven't mentioned. My wife, Sara. But then, what can you say about your reason for getting up in the morning…for the mother of your child? Probably a more eloquent man could come up with a lot. But what I know is that a man considers himself lucky if he finds a colleague who challenges him and a woman who loves him. I found both in the same, beautiful person."

He looked at Sara as she kissed her fingertips and blew the kiss to him.

Fortified by this, Grissom launched into the body of his speech.

* * *

It was well after midnight by the time they arrived home. While Grissom paid Stephanie and saw her off, Sara went upstairs to check on Rosalind. He found her there ten minutes later, watching the rise and fall of the little girl's even breaths. Coming up behind her, Grissom wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her bare shoulder.

"Gil," Sara whispered. "I want another one."

There was a long pause. "Any specific kind?"

"Not really. Just another healthy one," she replied. Turning around in his arms, Sara faced him. "What do you say?"

"I say…" He kissed her softly, sweetly. "I got two awards tonight."

Her smile lit up her face. Reaching behind her back, Sara grasped his hands and brought them back between them. Her nimble fingers undid the cuff link at his right wrist. She held the silver stud up, teasingly.

"I'll hide it; you seek it."

To Be Continued


	10. Disappointments

Disclaimers: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks for all the kind reviews! Enjoy this chapter;)

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama, MAMA!"

Sara closed her eyes, counted to ten, then opened them again. Rosalind was still sitting in her booster chair at the kitchen table, banging her spoon into her bowl of soggy cereal, and calling out "mama" at the top of her lungs. She closed her eyes, took another ten seconds, and tried again.

"What is it, Rosalind?" she asked in as calm a voice as she could muster before seven a.m.

"Wan' some juice."

"You have juice. You don't need more right now. What you need is to eat your cereal."

"No!"

If there was one word she could remove from her daughter's rapidly growing vocabulary, it would be that word.

"Cereal, Rosalind. Don't make me count."

Rosalind's answer to that was to throw a handful of cereal at the wall.

Sara's eye twitched. In another twenty minutes, she would have to have Rosalind cleaned and ready to drop off at daycare, so that she would be on time for the start of the dayshift. It was usually a flawless system. Grissom still headed up graveyard and slept while she was at work and Rosalind was at daycare, leaving them both the late afternoon and early evening hours to spend with their daughter and each other. Time at home together was far more precious than time together at work.

But today, the system wasn't quite working as flawlessly as usual. Her husband, never known for his punctuality, was thirty minutes late. And she was on her very last nerve.

"One…" she started, loudly and clearly, as not to be misunderstood by her toddler. "Two…you really don't want me to reach three, Rosalind. Eat your breakfast."

Her daughter's lower lip quivered, but she held her ground.

"Rosalind…" She was just about lose it when she heard the garage door opening. Sara released a pent-up breath. Grissom was home.

He came into the kitchen a minute later, dressed in dark blue coveralls, spouting off apologies and a story about Greg, an autopsy and the loss of his favorite pair of pants. Sara shot him a look that told him, in no uncertain terms, that now was not the time for explanations.

"Rough morning?" Grissom asked, taking in the cereal dripping down the wall.

"She is your daughter right now," Sara replied. "Do with her what you will."

She grabbed her purse from the counter, and stomped up the stairs, knowing full well she was being unfair and a tad bit overdramatic. But in her defense, it had been a rough morning. A rough, disappointing morning that had started with a rude awakening.

In the bathroom she shared with Grissom, Sara flung open the lower cabinet and dug into a large box of tampons. She slammed a few of them into her purse, blinking back hot tears. So she'd started her period. It wasn't the end of the world. All it meant was that she wasn't pregnant. Again.

Sara sat back on the cold tile. Five months of disappointments had taken their toll on her. She didn't understand the problem. She'd had no problem getting pregnant with Rosalind; truthfully, it had sort of snuck up on them. A wedding present they'd given themselves, Grissom had called it.

So, what had changed? Was she getting too old? She'd read somewhere that the closer you got to forty, the harder it was to conceive. Sara scowled. Grissom had at least twenty more childbearing years, and she was facing the end of hers. It was hardly fair.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice Grissom standing in the doorway for a full minute. When she finally did look up at him, she saw her own letdown mirrored in his eyes.

"Sorry," she said, holding up a tampon. "Another month, another cycle."

"Sara." He crouched down and reached for her hand. "It's all right. It'll happen."

"I waited too long," Sara said, shaking her head. "If I'd started popping them out when I was in my twenties…"

"Then I wouldn't be their father," he reminded her.

"It wouldn't have been for lack of trying on my part," she snapped. After a second, she sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm…well, I'm hormonal."

"Honey, you can't let this stress you. There's strong evidence linking stress and trouble conceiving."

Sara nodded. "I know. And I'm trying not to go overboard with my expectations. But every month, it gets a little bit harder."

Grissom helped her to her feet, and gave her a soft kiss. "It'll happen," he repeated. "We'll just have to keep trying."

"Fine," Sara grumbled. "I guess we can keep having crazy amounts of sex for another twenty-eight days." She started out of the bathroom. "But if you don't get me pregnant by this time next month, buster, we've got an appointment with Dr. Roget, fertility specialist. So if you don't like the idea of combining a plastic cup with a copy of Jugs, you'd better whip the soldiers into shape."

His deep chuckles echoed down the hallway.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	11. Dates

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I got a bit wrapped up in my other GSR story, and I didn't realize I was neglecting this one. But here's a new chapter for your reading pleasure. Enjoy, and as always, thanks for all the kind feedback.

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The one thing Grissom missed most with the schedule he and Sara had adopted after Rosalind arrived in their lives was waking up next to his wife. Except for the occasional instance, he woke just as Sara was getting off the day shift. So there was usually no warm body curled up against his back when the afternoon sunlight stirred him from slumber. Just an empty pillow next to his that faintly smelled of her apple shampoo. He liked to bury his face in it before getting up to start his day.

But that particular morning, he didn't have to settle for Sara's pillow. He had the woman herself snuggled into the crook of his arm. It was going to be a good day.

Some internal awareness of each other, honed after three years of marriage, compelled Sara to wake at the same time.

"Morning," she purred. Still half asleep himself, all he could do was smile in pure pleasure when she started pressing soft kisses onto his shoulder. "It's only six-thirty…"

He nodded. "And we don't have to be up until seven."

Sara nibbled along the line of his beard. "And it's still a good time of the month…"

Fortunately, he was already aroused, or that might have killed things right there. As much as he wanted another baby, eight months of thermometers, schedules and doing it at the drop of a hat had turned sex into an obligation, rather than the fun it used to be. But even though Sara's mind was on babies, her hands were busy making him forget everything.

Half an hour later, sweaty and rumpled, they rolled apart to catch their breath.

"Morning, honey," he chuckled. "I can't imagine a better way to start my vacation."

She sighed the sigh of a thoroughly sated woman. "I'm a little jealous. Remember when I used to have ten weeks of vacation time built up? Whatever happened to those hours?"

"I think the answer to that question will be getting up soon, demanding her breakfast." Grissom glanced at the clock. "What time do I need to have her at daycare?" There was no answer. "Sara?"

When he glanced at his wife, she had a panicked look on her face. "Oh, Gil." She sat up in bed, a hand clapped to her mouth. "I forgot."

"Forgot what?"

She smiled at him and he instantly knew that whatever it was she'd forgotten, it wasn't going to be good for him. "Rosalind has a play date today."

"A play date?" Frowning, Grissom grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them on. "She's two and a half. She's not allowed to date for another twenty-seven and a half years."

"It's just a small group of kids from the neighborhood getting together to play."

"Doesn't she do that at daycare?"

"Of course. But this is more sociable." Sara paused. "Gil, you and I…we're not social creatures. In fact, I'd say we're borderline socially retarded. It's one of the things that drew us to each other. But…" She stopped and looked down at her hands.

"But?" he prompted.

When she looked back up, her eyes were misty. "I don't want my daughter to go through life feeling like the odd one out. She'll be smart. She already is. But I also want her to be popular. Or at least personable." Sara shrugged one bare shoulder. "Everything that I never was. And I think it starts here."

"Sara." He pulled her back into his arms. "Honey, I understand." He tilted her chin up for a kiss. "She'll have her play date, I promise. Whose house am I taking her to?"

She cleared her throat delicately. "Well, sweetie, that's the other thing I forgot to tell you."

* * *

Grissom did the math in his head. And wasn't happy with the results.

Thirty brand-new and freshly broken crayons. Twenty-five pieces of broken vanilla wafers on the carpet. Seventeen dirty diapers…so far. Ten picture books marred by childish scribbles. Five kids under five. Four women sipping virgin Bloody Mary's (somehow he managed to keep from yelling "they're just tomato juice" every time one of the mothers giggled about their clever drink choice…Sara had better be proud of him for that.) Two talking Elmo dolls that were in serious danger of having their batteries permanently lost in the pockets of his pants.

And one middle-aged entomologist, reminding himself every five minutes that he loved his wife very much. Very, very much.

"Mr. Grissom," one of the mothers…what was her name…broke his train of thought. "Or is it Doctor?"

"Gil is fine," he replied. "Is there something I can get for you?"

"No, nothing. I'm just fine, too." What's Her Name gave him a distinctly flirtatious smile. "You know, I've always thought that PhD's were far sexier than MD's."

"Well. That's…" Grissom searched for a distraction. "I should check Rosalind's diaper."

He plucked Rosalind up from the carpet, just before she could steal one of the other children's plastic horses and single-handedly start World War III.

"Da-de," she babbled happily as he carried her to the makeshift changing table. "Where Mama?"

"At the blissful peace I used to know," he replied under his breath. For his daughter, he went on, "Mama's at work, Rosalind."

"Mama work," the little girl repeated several times as her father changed her diaper. When he was done, Rosalind held out her arms to him. "Hug, Da-de."

It was an invitation he could never refuse. Grissom picked his daughter up and planted a kiss on her chubby cheek. "Love you, sunshine. Always will. But I don't care how old or social you get. If you're ever married and flirting with another man over a box of baby wipes, I'm handing you over to the nuns."

The front door opening was nothing short of salvation. Sara entered amidst a chorus of chirpy greetings from the neighborhood moms. Grissom watched his wife. There was a momentary flash of fear on her face, the reaction of a shy girl when suddenly thrust into the spotlight. Grissom understood that. He'd felt the same way when the women entered the house, two excruciatingly long hours earlier.

"Sara, darling!" What's Her Name kissed the air beside each of Sara's cheeks. "Your home is so lovely. I could just eat your daughter up. And your husband…"

"Mama!" Rosalind saved the moment by screeching for Sara. "Mama, hug!"

"Okay, baby." Sara crossed over to her family and took the little girl from Grissom. "I got off early to come be sociable." She winked at her husband.

"So, can I take your place back at the lab?" he asked.

Sara shook her head. "Rosalind, your daddy is so silly."

"So illy," Rosalind repeated.

Grissom followed the two women in his life into the living room. One of the women handed Sara a drink. "Virgin Bloody Mary," the woman said with a conspirator's wink.

"You know, they're just tomato juice," Sara informed her.

He couldn't keep a smile off his face. That night, if Sara thought it would increase fertility, he would have made love standing on his head. She'd earned it.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	12. Thanks

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"I just don't understand why we can't go to there, like we have every year since we were married."

Grissom frowned into the silverware drawer. "Sara, do we even own a carving knife?"

His wife gave him the most exasperated look she could conjure. "Exactly what do we need to carve around here, Gil? Tofu?"

"Tofurkey?"

"Don't be cute. You know why she's coming, don't you?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "She's testing me."

He stopped rifling through the drawer long enough to shake his head. "My mother is not testing you."

"Of course she is. She wants to see if I'll cave under the pressure of presenting the Martha Stewart inspired dinner you're used to getting on Thanksgiving."

"You're giving her cooking a little too much credit."

Sara shrugged. "Maybe. But there's also the issue of Rosalind. You know exactly what she'll say; she's been saying it ever since she spoke her first word. 'Why don't you have her signing yet?'" Unconsciously, she started pacing the length of the kitchen. "She's barely out of diapers!"

"Sara, she just wants to be able to talk to her granddaughter."

But Sara was on a roll. "She's never thought I'm a good enough mother. All she ever says is 'when Gil was Rosalind's age, he could do this…he could do that.'" She scowled at her husband. "Apparently there was nothing you couldn't do by age five."

"Technically, my mother never 'says' anything. She might, from time to time, sign some of these things, but…"

"I hate it when you get technical while I'm being irrational!"

Grissom abandoned his search and reached out to stop her. Taking both of her hands in his, he asked, "Honey, what's going on?"

Her eyes were red with frustrated tears that she couldn't quite shed. "I don't know. I really don't. I guess I'm just tired."

"You haven't been sleeping well?"

"Too well. The alarm goes off and it's all I can do to get up." She sighed. "You know I'm not really upset about your mother coming for the week, right?"

"You are a little."

"I'm not. Really, she and I get along a lot better now that I can sign some. I just wish…"

"Mama, come here!" Rosalind cried out from the living room where she had, until that moment, been immersed in a Baby Einstein DVD.

Before she went to see what was going on in their daughter's world, Grissom gave her a soft kiss. "I'll take care of Thanksgiving dinner. All of it. If that'll help."

"Maybe just the meat," she sniffed. "Thanks."

Rosalind's issue was that her program had run its course and had cycled back to the DVD's main menu. Sara turned off the TV and picked her daughter up, setting her on the couch.

"Mama. Wanna watch show."

"No more show. One show a day, you know that." Sara gently grasped her daughter's little hands. "Let's play a game, sweetie." She took Rosalind's hands and crossed them over her daughter's heart. "This…means love."

* * *

_Gil. What is this?_

Grissom set down his fork to sign back, _Eggplant casserole. Sara made it. I think you'll like it._

Mary Grissom adjusted her glasses, exactly as her son often did. _It's not exactly traditional._

_Sara is a vegetarian. You know that._

The woman in questionwatched the exchange of signs closely, catching only her name. "Mother," she addressed the older woman, speaking slowly and clearly. "How is everything?"

"Fine," she replied back in her stilted tone.

A few minutes of awkward silence passed. Grissom caught his wife's eye over the table and gave her a little smile of encouragement.

"Gammy," Rosalind said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. When she received no reply, her face scrunched up in irritation. Why was her grandmother ignoring her? "Gammy!"

Grissom tapped his mother's shoulder and pointed at the little girl. Mary smiled at her granddaughter. _She's getting so big, Gil. When do you intend to give her a brother or a sister?_

Sara caught the two words; she froze with her fork halfway to her mouth.

Shifting in his seat, Grissom signed, _Mother, I've explained the situation to you several times now. It's a delicate subject._

_I won't be around forever. I'd like to at least meet one more grandchild._

_Please, Mother._ His hand motions were jerky. _Stop. She can understand some of this._

_Maybe if you two hadn't waited so long to start having them…_

Sara pushed away from the table. She didn't need to know every sign to know what was being discussed. "Excuse me."

Once inside the relative privacy of the kitchen, Sara did the only thing she could think to do. She grabbed a pot and started cleaning.

Grissom followed after her a few minutes later. He let her scrub away for another moment before he came up behind her and pried the pot out of her hands. "Honey, it's okay."

She shook her head. "It's not. She's right."

"She's not right. She's my mother and I love her, but she's not right." He turned her around to face him. "When it comes to our children, the only opinions that matter are ours."

Sara drew in a shaky breath. "I don't know what else I can do to make your mother like me. I tried teaching Rosalind to sign 'I love you,' but she's still a baby. And maybe you could sign at her age, but…"

"She's not me," Grissom finished. "And I don't want her to be. I want her to be her own person, not a shadow of either of us."

Resting her forehead on his shoulder, she closed her eyes. "Why do I let her stress me out so much?" Her head snapped up. "And just what was she saying about my eggplant casserole?"

"That it's delicious," Grissom lied. "Will you come back to the table?"

She pulled away from him and crossed to the other counter. "In a minute." Her mind still preoccupied, she didn't even realize that she reached out and took something from a plate in front of her. She bit into it. "I can't deal with her just yet…" Sara trailed off when she saw the look her husband was giving her. "What?"

"Sara." He pointed to the plate. "You just ate a piece of turkey."

She swallowed. "And I think I want another." Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god."

He didn't need to ask; he was right there with her. "Do you think…"

"I don't know. I stopped counting days." Sara's eyes darted back and forth as she processed. "It could just be a fluke. Last time, I ate an entire hamburger. Medium rare. This was just a little sliver of turkey."

"But…you still ate meat. Our first clue that you were pregnant with Rosalind." Grissom moved to her. "Sara, it's worth taking the test."

"It could be too early for a test to show anything."

"We could run it in the lab again."

"Maybe…" Her hands trembled. "I can't get my hopes up too much. Especially not with your mother here as a witness."

"I'll take a blood sample there tonight. We'll have results by dinner tomorrow. If we're wrong, she'll never have to know. But if we're right…" His smile was wide. "…she'll have to like you. For a little while, at least."

The corners of Sara's lips turned up. "It's been thirty-seven days," she told him. "I just did the math." She kissed him, hot and hard. "Where do you want that blood sample, Dr. Grissom?"

* * *

To Be Continued 


	13. Aliens

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: No, I didn't abandon this story;) Enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

Moments 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" 

Grissom braced himself for thirty pounds of three year-old slamming into his legs as Rosalind shot down the hall and launched herself at her father.

He let his luggage lay where it landed, bent down and scooped his daughter up into his arms. "Hi, princess."

"Missed you, Daddy," Rosalind said, burying her face in his neck.

Right then, Grissom made a mental note not to commit himself to any more conferences that ran over two or three days long.

"I missed you, too." He set her down on the carpet. "Where's Mommy?"

"Right here." Sara came around the corner, one hand on the gentle swell of her stomach. "I was starting to get worried about you."

"Traffic," he explained. "I'm sorry, honey." Rosalind trailed behind him as he approached his wife and pulled into her a long kiss. "Were you this big when I left a week ago?" he asked when they broke apart.

Sara's eyes instantly narrowed. "There are about five hundred different, better ways you could have put that, Gil."

He frowned. "I just realized that."

"Daddy…" Rosalind tugged at his pants. "Gotta tell you."

"Tell me what, princess?"

She looked up at him, her little face deadly serious. "Mommy's tummy moves, Daddy."

"I know." Grissom met his wife's eye. "It's pretty neat, if you ask me."

"Why it move?"

Both parents looked at their overly-inquisitive offspring. Sara cleared her throat and glanced back at Grissom. "You want to field this one?" She pointed to the kitchen. "I've got dinner going on." She left after giving him another, softer kiss.

When she was gone, he blew out a breath. Another tug on his pants leg reminded him that his daughter had yet to get her answer.

He made a quick parental decision. "Rosalind, would you like to see the present Daddy brought you from New York?"

The birds and bees conversation was shelved for another day in, if Grissom had his way, the very far future.

* * *

His decision came back to haunt him two weeks later. 

"Happy birthday, Greg!" Sara raised her glass of soda water to their young friend, for whom they were hosting a small, celebratory gathering. "Big 3-0 and still rockin'!"

Imitating her mother, Rosalind grasped her milk glass with both hands. "Happy berfday, Unca Greg."

Laughter erupted around the table. Greg reached out to bop the little girl's nose. "Thank you, sugar bug."

"Didn't we celebrate your thirtieth birthday last year, Greg?" Catherine asked with a small wink.

Nick snickered. "Haven't we celebrated your thirty-ninth for the past six years, Cath?"

Grissom held up a hand before war was declared. "Blow out your candles, Greg. We promise not to sing."

It took him all the air in his lungs to put out the candles. When they were finally out, he picked up the knife, cut out a slice and handed it to Warrick. "A little Sanders DNA?"

Warrick regarded the cake like he might a bomb. "Truly the gift that keeps on giving."

"You can thank me later." The birthday boy distributed pieces to the rest of the dinner party, but stopped just before Rosalind. "Can she have some?" he asked Sara.

"Definitely. In fact, give her extra icing," Sara replied, stroking her stomach. "The sugar shock will put her out like a light later."

He did just that, earning Rosalind's eternal love and devotion when he presented her with a plateful of frosting.

"What do you say, Rosalind?" Grissom prompted.

His daughter waved her spoon in the air like royalty. "Eveybody eat!" she ordered.

Catherine smiled proudly. "Couldn't have said that better myself."

* * *

When the cake was devoured, the presents were opened, and the rest of the party had gone home, Greg stuck around to help Grissom and Sara clean up. He was carrying a load of plates into the kitchen when a dark-haired blur ran straight towards him and circled his legs twice before darting off again. 

He looked at the blur's mother. "You told me to give her the sugar!" he reminded her.

"Relax, Greggo. It's all part of my evil parenting plan. In ten minutes, she'll be putting herself to bed." Sara eased down onto the couch.

Greg left the dishes with Grissom and joined her on the sofa to watch Rosalind bounce around the room. "If we could somehow harness her power, we'd be able to pull doubles every day," he noted.

"Believe me, I've considered…" Sara stopped as Rosalind started trying to climb into her lap. "Careful, sweetie. Mommy won't have a lap for another four months." She set the little girl on the sofa instead and pushed herself back up. "Excuse me. Gil's spawn is sitting right on my bladder."

Greg was proud of himself; halfway through Sara's second pregnancy, hearing that sort of stuff didn't even faze him anymore.

"Unca Greg!" When her mother was gone, Rosalind fixed him with a blue stare. "Mommy's tummy moves!"

"Does it?" he asked, feigning surprise.

Her forehead crinkled. "Why?"

Greg swallowed.

Oh. Crap.

* * *

Sara snuck up behind her husband as he dried wine glasses and slipped her arms around his chest. "You make such a good house boy," she laughed. "I think I'll keep you on for awhile." 

He set down the final glass and turned around. "Even though my contract is up at the end of the month?"

"That's right." Sara softly kissed the corner of his mouth. "What are we doing for our anniversary?"

"I was thinking…" He nuzzled the nape of her neck. "We could get a babysitter for the weekend and go away somewhere."

"Somewhere with a beach?" she asked, hopefully.

Grissom grinned. "Lake Mead, it is then."

Sara pulled back. "You're so funny, I can hardly stand it." She was about to make another, better suggestion when there was a shrill shriek from the living room. Before either of them could react, Rosalind bolted into the kitchen and hid behind her father.

"Princess." He tried twisting around to see her, but she clung to his legs. "What's wrong?"

"Matumgonhavalien!"

Her parents exchanged matching confused looks. Sara bent over as much as she could to see her daughter. "Sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy didn't understand that. Can you say it again?"

Greg jogged into the kitchen just then. "Okay, this totally isn't my fault and you can't get mad at me because it's my birthday."

Grissom gave him a look. "It's never good when you open with a disclaimer, Greg."

"She asked me why Sara's stomach moves!" He spread his hands, helplessly. "Do I look qualified to answer that question for a three year-old?"

"Oh god…" Sara rubbed her temple. "What did you tell her?" Greg mumbled something unintelligible. "Try that again." He repeated the word, only slightly clearer. "And once more?" The third time, he blurted the word out, eliciting another shriek from Rosalind.

Grissom's look turned into a glare. "You know…you might not live to see thirty again."

Greg sighed. "I didn't say like 'boo…aliens!' It more like, 'um…aliens?' How was I supposed to know she even knows what an alien is?"

Sara turned to her husband. "Oh, let's see. Gil…how could our three year-old daughter possibly know what an alien is?"

His glare melted under the power of his wife's. "I was trying to give her a wide range of literary exposure, Sara. Science-fiction is a significant genre." She stared him down until he relented. "Maybe _The Martian Chronicles_ wasn't the wisest of bedtime story choices."

With a great sigh, Sara attempted to pry Rosalind off of her father's leg. "Sweetheart, Mommy's tummy is not moving because there's alien in it. I promise."

The little girl sniffed and wiped her nose on Grissom's khakis. "Why it move, Mommy?"

She glanced at her husband. "Well…it's moving because Mommy's going to have a baby. And you're going to have a little brother or sister. Remember how we talked about what that would be like?"

Rosalind peeked out, her blue eyes wide. "Daddy?"

Grissom managed to turn and kneel down to her level. "What, princess?"

She sighed with almost as much exasperation as Sara had displayed a minute earlier. "Can Mommy have a puppy?"

* * *

To Be Continued 


	14. Big girls

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me, except for one;) 

Author's Notes: I tried something a little different for this chapter. Hope you enjoy! Thanks for all the kind feedback; I'm not sure how far I'll take this series. As far as it wants to go is the best estimate I can give you.

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

The fuss all started during dinner.

It was spaghetti night, Rosalind's favorite. Daddy put two meatballs on her plate and cut them up into big pieces. Because she was a big girl now. But even big girls didn't get to put a whole bunch of cheese on their spaghetti; Daddy put the fun shaker thing on the other side of the table.

Mommy wasn't eating her dinner. She wouldn't get dessert later. Rosalind chomped on her meatball with her mouth open. Daddy would see her eating. And then she'd definitely get pudding.

The table shook and milk sloshed out of Rosalind's Dora the Explorer cup. She wasn't sorry because she didn't like milk, but she also didn't want Mommy and Daddy to think she'd spilled like a baby. She looked at Mommy. Mommy was holding onto the table. Her face was all screwed up like she'd banged her elbow or scraped her knee.

"Gil…" That was her Daddy. "Gil," she heard Mommy say again. "I don't think this is a false alarm."

A false alarm must be something awful, because Daddy got up so fast that he moved the table some more. This time her cup fell all the way and milk went all over her spaghetti. Rosalind didn't want to cry, but her dinner was all gross and her Mommy looked sick and her Daddy was yelling something about water being broken.

They didn't notice her crying right away, and that made her cry even more. When Daddy did notice, he picked her up out of her special pink seat and gave her a hug and a kiss.

Daddy's hugs were almost as good as Mommy's. Mommy didn't have hair on her face that tickled. She felt a little bit better, but Mommy's face was still all bunched up. And she kept holding her big tummy. "Mommy's sick," she sniffed.

"No, princess," Daddy said. "But we need to take her to the doctor so he can help her have the baby. Don't be scared. Mommy's going to be just fine."

Daddy set her down and told her to go find her shoes. Rosalind stomped to her play area, where she'd kicked off her Strawberry Shortcake shoes when she got home from school. She picked up one, then threw it as far across the room as she could.

The stupid baby had ruined spaghetti night. Maybe she might have liked it before, but now she never would.

* * *

Maybe she didn't get to eat all her dinner, but Daddy must have forgotten about that because he let her have pudding at the big place he called a hospital. She ate all of it and didn't spill anything. She tried telling Daddy this so he would know what a big girl she was, but he was too busy with Mommy.

Mommy was in a funny bed. It had sides like the bed she'd slept in when she was a baby. Were they afraid Mommy would fall out? Maybe she would. She still looked sick. Her face was all wet, like it looked when she used to push her in her stroller really fast around the park.

"Mommy," she said. She must have been too loud because Daddy told her to use her inside voice. "Mommy," she whispered. "I ate all my pudding."

Daddy picked her up just then and carried her over to Mommy's bed. Mommy held out her arms. She wanted a hug. Probably because she knew what a big girl she'd been.

Mommy smelled pretty. She let Mommy hug her for a long time and tried not to wiggle. But even though she didn't, Mommy let go of her. Her face got all red and she said a dirty word.

Daddy picked her up again and told her to go color until Miss Catherine got there.

She colored all of the ponies in her book black. Stupid baby. Mommy couldn't even hug her right because of it.

* * *

At Miss Catherine's house, she got to sleep in a really big bed in a room with a TV. She even got to watch a show before bed. But she kind of missed Daddy reading a story to her.

She woke up because she needed to go potty. Miss Catherine had left the door open so she could get out, but the hallway was dark and she didn't remember which room was the potty.

Rubbing her eyes, she tried to remember, but it wasn't her house. Everything was different.

"Rosalind?" Something really big was coming to her in the dark. She wanted to be a big girl and not be scared, but the big thing's voice was really deep. And it knew her name.

The big thing turned a light on and it was Mr. Rick. Mommy and Daddy worked with him, so it was okay.

"What are you doing, sweet pea?" he asked her, kneeling down. He didn't have a shirt on. His skin looked like cocoa without marshmallows.

"I have to go potty."

Mr. Rick smiled and took her hand. He led her to the right door and patted her head lightly. "Should I get Catherine? Do you need any help?"

Grown-ups were so dumb sometimes. "No," she told him. "I'm a big girl."

Why did that always make grown-ups laugh?

When she got back…without any help…she climbed up into the big bed, hugged her knees and stuck out her lower lip. If it wasn't for the stupid baby, she'd be in her own bed.

* * *

Daddy came to Miss Catherine's at lunch time. Mr. Rick wasn't there; he must have missed his own bed, too, because he left before she woke up. It was just Miss Catherine and Lindsey and her having cheese sandwiches. And Lindsey was talking on the telly phone. That's all she ever did.

She heard him before she saw him. But as soon as she was sure it was Daddy, she scrambled down from her chair and ran to find him.

"Daddy!" He didn't scold her about her inside voice; he just picked her up. He was smiling a lot.

"How's Sara?" Miss Catherine asked. That was her Mommy.

"Great," Daddy said. "They're both perfect."

She put her head on Daddy's shoulder. "Mommy's not sick no more?"

"Any more," he said. "And no, princess. She had the baby!" Daddy put her down and looked at her like he did when he had to tell her something really important. "You have a little brother, Rosalind!"

A boy baby. Why was daddy so happy about that? Boy babies were even stupider than girl babies. At school, boys ate crayons and kicked each other and never listened to the teacher. She had enough of them there. She didn't need one at home.

But nobody asked her what she thought. And that made her hate the baby even more.

* * *

Mommy didn't look sick like she did before and her tummy was mostly gone. The stupid baby had been in there and now he wasn't. But how had he come out? She would ask Daddy later.

"Rosalind, come here," Mommy said when she and Daddy came in. Mommy was holding a rolled-up blue blanket and smiling down at it. She climbed up the side of the bed. There was something in the blue blanket. It looked like it had a regular nose, so it probably wasn't an alien.

"I want you to meet your little brother, Samuel," Mommy said. Her voice was all wavy like she was going to cry.

Oh. It was the stupid baby that Mommy was holding. She tried to get a better look. It did have a nose, and a mouth and two eyes. It looked almost normal. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

Daddy was on the other side of the bed. "What do you think, princess?"

She was going to tell Daddy just how stupid the baby was. How he had ruined spaghetti night and kept Mommy from hugging her just right and made her go to Miss Catherine's where she couldn't find the potty when she needed it.

But then he said, "You're a big sister now, Rosalind. Mommy and I need to make sure you know something. The baby's going to take up a lot of our time, but you're our big girl and that's never going to change. Okay?"

Big sister. That sounded pretty good. Because if she was the big sister, the stupid baby would be the little brother. And bigger people always told little people what to do. When he was big enough to play with, Samuel would have to do what she told him to do. And if he didn't, she could send him to the time-out chair or keep his dessert and eat it herself. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad having him around.

She smiled at Daddy with her best pretty picture smile.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	15. Lessons

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. Most of them. 

Author's Notes: I've decided to see how far this series can go. Hope you'll all stick around for the ride!

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"More, Daddy."

For Grissom, the hardest part of being a parent was saying "no." Yes, he could give in and read the next chapter of _Charlotte's Web_ to Rosalind; she was absorbing the story with rapt delight and he cherished every second of their time together. But it was well past her bedtime already and she needed her sleep.

"No, princess," he said, setting the book aside. "You need lots of rest for your big day tomorrow."

Surrounded by every stuffed animal she owned, his daughter shook her head at this. "Daddy, do I gotta go?"

"Do I have to go," Grissom corrected her as he pulled the covers up to her chin. "And, yes, you do. But princess, you're going to love it. I promise."

Rosalind gave him a skeptical look that few five year-olds could muster. "What if I don't like it?"

Another hard part about being a parent was figuring out of his child was voicing a true worry, or simply talking in order to further delay her bedtime. He decided to play along for another minute, even though he highly doubted that there was even a remote possibility that Rosalind wouldn't like kindergarten. This was the same little girl who, on her first day of preschool, had completely forgotten her parents existed, and run off to play without so much as a kiss goodbye.

"Remember how much fun you had walking around the school last week?" She nodded reluctantly. "You're going to make new friends, and you're going to learn lots of things. And your mommy and I can't wait to hear about every single one of them."

Rosalind considered this for a moment. "But I've already got friends. And I know lots of things. I can spell my whole name. R-O-S-A-L-I-N-D G-R-I-S-S-O-M. I can even spell Sammy's name. S-A-M…"

Grissom gently cut her off. "See? You're already so smart. School will just make you smarter."

"Why can't you teach me, Daddy? You're the smartest person in the whole world!"

Now he was fairly certain she was just talking to talk. "Because I already have a job."

"You catch bad guys," she said. Her nose scrunched up in complete and utter disgust. "And bugs."

And that could be the hardest part of being a parent. They might look like you and sound like you, but eventually you realized that your children each had their own personalities. And just because you loved something, didn't mean they would love it. Or like it. Or even tolerate it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Rosalind was finally asleep. Grissom left her pink nightlight glowing, and the door open just a bit, before starting down the hall. On his way to the master bedroom, he stopped in the nursery to check on his son.

Samuel was stretched out in his crib, his chubby eighteen month-old body taking up every inch of space that it possibly could. Grissom straightened the blanket covering him and ran his fingers over the little boy's dark, tousled curls. He wasn't worried about waking him up. Now that he was walking everywhere, and taking delight in making his parents chase after him, he slept even more deeply at night.

Upon entering the room he shared with his wife, he was surprised to see her still awake. He was even more surprised to see her waiting on the bed, wearing nothing but a short, flimsy nightgown and a look on her face that told him exactly what she had in mind for the few hours they had before the graveyard shift began.

It was awhile before he had another coherent thought.

Lying with his cheek against Sara's breast, Grissom sighed.

"That's not a sigh of contentment," she said with a smile. He loved feeling her voice vibrating against his ear. "What's on your mind, Mr. Grissom?"

It was no use lying to her; she found out everything eventually. "Rosalind doesn't like bugs."

To his consternation, Sara laughed. "I guess you haven't noticed until now, but through some twist of genetic irony, I gave birth to a girly girl five years ago."

"She begged me to kill a spider last week." Grissom closed his eyes against the memory. "I captured it and set it free."

"Of course you did," she soothed.

He sat up. "She looked at me like I'd betrayed her."

"I get the same look when I buy Cheerios instead of Lucky Charms."

"You're enjoying this," he accused her.

Sara sat up behind him. "Only because you're adorable right now." She rested her chin on his shoulder. "She takes after you in so many other ways, Gil. This is just one area where she won't be a complete and total Daddy's girl." He felt her lips press a kiss onto his skin. "If anyone should be upset by this development, it should be me. I don't see you stepping foot into the Barbie aisle of the toy store."

"You're going to let her have a Barbie doll?"

It was her turn to sigh. "The very idea makes my skin crawl. But it's what she wants for her birthday. And after all, she's the only girl in the entire world who doesn't have one."

Grissom finally smiled. "Did you tell her about the little girls in Africa?"

"Amazingly enough, that didn't have the intended effect on her." She paused. "Too bad they don't make Entomologist Barbie."

Reaching around behind, he grabbed his wife's waist and dragged her into his lap; her throaty peals of laughter were like music. He looked down and desire punched him in the gut again. Two kids had perfectly rounded her body in all the right places. He could never get enough of her.

"How do you do it?" Grissom shook his head. "How do you make me feel twenty years younger?"

She answered him by pulling herself up and giving him a searing kiss.

He was going to be late to work again.

* * *

"Mommy! Daddy!" Aided by a teacher and a school safety patrol, Rosalind climbed into the backseat of the SUV and plopped into the empty space next to her brother's car seat. "I love school!"

Sara couldn't hide her smile as she reached around from the front seat and buckled her daughter in. When she was secure, Grissom started the car. "So you had a good day?" he asked unnecessarily.

"Uh-huh," she nodded happily. "We had spaghetti for lunch!" They waited for her to go on. "The teacher's nice. She let me sit next to my new friend. Her name is Ariel. Like the mermaid! She has three Barbie dolls, Mommy! She's going to bring them for Show and Tell. I don't know what I'm going to bring." She looked around the car; her eyes eventually landed on her little brother. "I guess I can bring him."

Samuel clapped his hands together. "Rossy!" he squealed, his version of his big sister's name.

"Um…we'll have to think about that," Sara informed her daughter. "Tell us what you learned today."

Rosalind's forehead scrunched up in thought. "Um…my cubby is in the red row. And tonight is 'Read a Book Together' night. But we already do that, Daddy. Oh, I've got homework!" She dug into her glittery backpack for a piece of paper. "Miss Smith asked us questions and wrote down our answers and now I'm going to draw a picture of our whole family and Miss Smith's going to put it all together to make my bioglaphy."

"Biography," Grissom corrected.

"Can I see?" Rosalind handed the paper to her mother. "'My Daddy's name is Gil.'" She bit her lip to keep a straight face. "'He's 82 years old.'"

Grissom tore his eyes away from the road long enough to glance at the next sentence. "'My Mommy's name is Sara. She's 57 years old,'" he read in triumph.

Sara sniffed. "Face it. I'll always be your trophy wife."

In the backseat, Rosalind frowned at her parents. Sometimes they just didn't make any sense.

* * *

That night, after reading a book together as required, Grissom tucked Rosalind into bed.

"Daddy," she said sleepily. "I'm glad you were right about school."

"So am I, princess." He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight."

He made it all the way to the door before she sat up. "I forgot to tell you, Daddy. We've got caterpillars in our classroom." A smile lit up her face. "Miss Smith says they're going to turn into butterflies!"

Butterflies. How could he have forgotten about them?

Hope was suddenly rekindled.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	16. Optimists

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. I plan to keep writing as long as the stories keep coming, so I hope you keep enjoying!

* * *

Moments 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

It doesn't matter how many times a doctor stresses that it's nothing more than a routine procedure…hearing that your child has to have surgery is terrifying. And feeling in any way responsible for the condition that needs to be corrected has to be devastating. 

So Sara tried to be understanding when Grissom pulled his hand away from hers and stood up abruptly. He walked to the back of Dr. LaMiera's office and took a full ten seconds to collect himself.

"Did I do this to him?"

Samuel's pediatrician glanced at Sara before answering. "No, Dr. Grissom."

He wasn't going to be so easily comforted. "You know the medical history on my side of the family. You're telling me that my son's hearing problem has nothing to do with that?"

"That's what I'm telling you. Samuel is suffering from chronic otitis media."

"Ear infections," Sara said softly. "Gil…"

In one corner of the room, the child in question was very contentedly building a tower with the blocks provided. He took a break from his work to look up at his father with a big smile, displaying his two year-old baby teeth.

Grissom turned back around. "I had ear infections as a child. All the time."

"Many children do," Dr. LaMiera reminded them. "Your genetic condition didn't manifest until much later in your life, am I right?" He reluctantly nodded. "This is a very common affliction. But it's not to be taken too lightly, either. Chronic infections are much more serious because of the potential for long-term damage. That's why I recommend we schedule the surgery as soon as possible."

"The tubes will prevent future infections?" Sara asked.

"By allowing for drainage, yes." Dr. LaMiera paused. "I understand your concerns. But we've caught the problem so early on that it's highly unlikely there will be any permanent hearing loss."

A long moment passed as Grissom watched his son play. "Can we be with him during the procedure?" The doctor looked skeptical. "My wife and I want to…"

Sara craned her neck to see her husband. "Please don't speak for me. I am not going to watch them…" Her hand drifted to her mouth. "…cut into my baby…"

"It's a very different thing when it's your own child on the table, Dr. Grissom," the doctor gently pointed out. "But if you insist, I can arrange for you to watch the surgery."

His stare was glassy. "I insist."

Samuel knocked his blocks over. "Daddy, look! Look!" It was too much. Grissom walked out of the office.

Sara picked up their little boy. "It's okay, baby," she soothed as his rosy lower lip started trembling. "Everything will be okay."

* * *

They didn't speak all the way home, and all through dinner. Rosalind was more than happy to pick up the slack; she chattered on about everything from the boy in her class who could stand on his head to how much she didn't like fishwich days in the cafeteria. 

"Daddy," she said without stopping for a breath. "I got math homework tonight."

"I have," Grissom corrected her, his voice dull.

"Can you help me?"

He hesitated. "Why don't you get Mommy to help you tonight?"

Sara looked up from her efforts to get Samuel to eat one more bite of mashed potatoes. The look she gave him was one of sheer disappointment.

Clearing his throat, he stood up with his still-full plate. "I'll be in the study."

"Mommy," he heard Rosalind ask as he headed for the kitchen. "Why is Daddy mad at me?"

* * *

His study was dark and cool. Once inside, he sank into his leather chair and closed his eyes. The day would go down as one of the worst of his life, and he was ready for it to be over. 

Ear infections were nothing new. Rosalind had come down a few of them when she was younger. But Samuel's never seemed to stop anymore. As soon as one cleared up, another one would build up. And then that morning…when they'd called his name and he hadn't even turned his head.

He hadn't been able to hear them.

Raw terror had paralyzed Grissom, and had yet to release him. They'd immediately called the doctor and gotten an appointment for that afternoon. Some leftover ear drops from his last infection had helped and Samuel had started responding to them again, but the damage had been done as far as Grissom was concerned.

The doctor could sugarcoat it all she wanted, but as far as he was concerned, this was all the proof he needed that his son had inherited his defect. His greatest fear had been realized. And the guilt was unbearable.

He had no idea how long he sat in the dark, but it must have been quite awhile. Light flooded the room all too suddenly, and he was forced to open his eyes.

Sara stood over him, her arms crossed. Her battle-stance. He was fairly familiar with it.

"Your daughter thinks you hate her and your son called for you for thirty minutes before he fell asleep. What is going on, Gil?"

"I'm in no mood to fight right now. Can we possibly postpone this?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but something must have changed her mind. "Oh baby…" Dropping to her knees in front of his chair, Sara pleaded with him. "Don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault."

Grissom shook his head because it was the only thing he could do to keep from losing it. "He got your eyes…and my ears."

Her hands were cool; she reached up and cupped his face between her palms, holding him steady. "Whatever you're feeling right now, it's not nearly as important as those two kids upstairs."

"Sara...what if there was a murder gene? And you passed it on to them." He paused. "How would you feel?"

She pulled back slightly. "When you're done wallowing, come to bed." Standing up, she walked to the door. "Don't expect me to be awake."

* * *

He spent some time in both children's rooms, watching them sleep. It took a lot for him to sit with Samuel. Fathers were supposed to protect, not endanger. He'd let his son down. 

Eventually, Grissom found his way into the bedroom. Sara was already under the covers, her back facing the door.

He got ready for bed and slid in beside her. Her eyes were closed; her brow creased as though she were lost in a bad dream.

"Honey," he whispered. "I'm sorry. What I said…you know I didn't mean it."

She was awake, but apparently wasn't quite ready to say anything. She felt for his hand and laced her fingers through his.

Grissom looked down at their joined hands. "I'd give up my own hearing…if it meant he'd never have any trouble with his."

At this, Sara opened her eyes. "So would I."

Several minutes passed. "I keep thinking about the night we confirmed that you were pregnant with Rosalind."

"God, I was so mad at you." She smiled through the memory. "Our entire world was about to change, and all you could talk about was the discovery of some new species of beetle."

"Cockroach, actually. I was petrified." He paused. "I still am."

"I know. Me, too."

"Can we both be scared and still get through this?"

Sara lifted one shoulder. "I guess we'll find out. But honestly…I'm optimistic."

Grissom thought about this. "All right," he decided. "Then I will be, too." She gave him a look. "Hey, there's a first time for everything."

* * *

The surgery was scheduled for seven a.m. Better to get it over with early. 

"Mama." Lying on the hospital gurney that was way too big for him, Samuel reached up for Sara. "Mama, wanna go home!"

All she could do was grasp his chubby little fingers and shake her head tightly.

On the other side of the bed, Grissom swallowed heavily. "Not yet, Sammy. Soon. After the doctor makes you all better."

"All bebber," the little boy repeated. His eyelids drooped significantly. "Daddy…all bebber."

"The anesthesia is kicking in," his father noted. "Finally."

Sara ran her tongue over her lower lip. "Just close your eyes, baby," she told Samuel. "When you wake up, Mommy and Daddy will be right here."

Samuel whimpered. It took another few minutes but he went out like a light.

"Dr. Grissom? Mrs. Grissom?" The surgeon they'd met earlier approached with an orderly. "It's time."

With fresh tears filling her eyes, Sara looked at her husband. His face was ashen, but unmoving. He stepped back and slipped his hands into his pockets. His detached stance. She was fairly familiar with it. Focusing on Samuel instead, Sara bent down to give his soft cheek a kiss.

The doctor turned to Grissom. "If you'll come with me, Dr. Grissom. We've arranged things so you'll be able to hold his hand during the procedure if you want."

"Thank you." His voice was hoarse.

With a nod from the surgeon, the orderly began pushing Samuel down the long, white hall. Sara shut her eyes, but couldn't clear away the image of her baby being taken away.

"Dr. Grissom?" she heard the surgeon say.

When she opened her eyes, her husband was watching her; he stood a few feet away, like he'd started to go with the doctor, but had stopped abruptly. Their eyes met for a moment.

"Dr. Grissom?" the surgeon repeated.

He continued to stare at her. "I appreciate you and your staff going out of your way," he told the man. "But I don't think I'll be going in."

The doctor nodded. "I understand. Have a seat then. I'll see you soon."

Once they were alone, Sara walked to him. She said nothing. She merely wrapped her arms around him, and drew him down to the bank of chairs. They held each for what seemed like a lifetime, but was probably only an hour.

A nurse approached them and gently tapped Sara's shoulder. "Mr. and Mrs. Grissom? Samuel's awake." She smiled. "And screaming for you both."

* * *

"25 percent chance." 

Grissom looked up from the book he'd been reading to Samuel. Their little boy had fallen asleep a long time ago, and the only sound in the recovery room had been his quiet recitation of _Peter Pan_ until Sara spoke.

At his puzzled look, she clarified, "If one parent has otosclerosis, there's only a 25 percent chance that a child of theirs will inherit it."

He lowered the book onto his lap. "You've done your research."

"When I was pregnant with Rosalind," Sara admitted. "I wish we could have done it together, but you never brought the subject up." She shook her head. "Even with your mother and teaching the kids to sign…there's still this big part of your past that you won't share with me."

"I don't mean to shut you out," Grissom said, marking his place and closing the book. "I only did back then because letting you in would have meant more than I was ready to handle at that point."

Sara inclined her head. "I get that. But someday, you're going to have to explain it to them. So they know…so they can be ready. In case they don't beat the odds."

He looked down at Samuel as he slept. His little chest rose and fell steadily. The only evidence of the surgery was the white bandages behind both of his ears. "If they don't…I'm glad I won't be around by the time they know. I don't want them to hate me."

"Do you hate your mother?" She waited for him to shake his head. "Exactly. And stop talking about not being around. Today's been hard enough."

"I'm not going anywhere just yet," he promised.

"I intend to hold you to that."

Grissom reached across their son to take her hand. "25 percent. That means there's a 75 percent chance that they'll always be as perfect as they are right now."

Sara smiled and squeezed his fingers. "I like a man who's optimistic."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	17. Cookies

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Enjoy, and thank you!

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"What in the world is going on here?"

Three flour-dusted faces lifted, but only two of them smiled at Grissom as he entered the kitchen. The scene laid out in front of him was enough to make him smile, as well. His wife, his thoroughly modern, post-women's lib, anti-homemaker wife, was up to her elbows in the makings of chocolate chip cookies.

And she wasn't happy about it.

Samuel jumped off the little step stool he used to reach the counter and ran for Grissom, throwing his arms around his leg. "Daddy, I'm a dumb cookie!"

"Really?" Grissom said, ruffling his curls and sending up a cloud of white powder. When the little boy stepped back, he left an imprint of flour behind on his father's dark pants. "Who told you that?"

"I did, Daddy." Not to be outdone by her four year-old brother, Rosalind ran to get her own hug. Taller at seven and a half, she left behind flour marks on Grissom's suit jacket. "We're making cookies for my class because Mommy says she's not getting shown up by Ariel's mom again."

Over at the counter, Sara sighed as she gave the batter a stir. "Out of all the things I've told her today, that would be the one that sticks. Not 'put your shoes away' or 'quit teasing your brother'."

With the kids trailing after him, Grissom walked over and gave her a sympathetic kiss. "What are you doing, honey? You know the local bakeries depend on us for support. Don't they have copies of the kids' classroom schedules, and plan their monthly budgets accordingly?"

"If you're going to make jokes, you're going to work while you do." She pushed the spoon into his hands. "Ping-pong ball sized drops, approximately two point five inches apart on..." She reached for a cookie sheet. "...this."

"I'll show you, Daddy," Rosalind volunteered. "Ariel's mom showed me how when I spent the night. She makes cookies all the time. She's, like, the coolest mom ever."

Grissom didn't need to be looking at Sara; he felt her flinch. Rosalind chattered on, unaware, until he cleared his throat. "Rosalind, can you do me a big favor? Can you take your brother to the bathroom and help him wash his hands?"

She nodded with a little too much enthusiasm. "Come on, Sammy."

"I don'wanna wash my hands," Samuel protested.

Instantly impatient, Rosalind grabbed his hand. "Don't be such a child," she grumbled. Grabbing his wrist, she dragged him out of the kitchen.

Once the kids were gone, Sara pushed away from the counter. "We'll have to put eggs on the grocery list. I just used our last one."

"Sara, she didn't mean..."

She furiously scribbled on the sheet of paper attached to the fridge. "And brown sugar. Went right through that box."

He plopped batter onto the metal sheet. "If you don't want to talk about it, you can just say so."

"There's nothing to talk about, Gil." Time had taught him that when his wife used that tone of voice, the discussion was over. So Grissom just kept spooning out little mounds of cookie dough. After several minutes, his patience paid off. "I can't blame her." Sara threw herself into stacking dirty measuring cups and bowls in the dishwasher as she talked. "Of course Ariel's mom is the coolest mom ever. She works from home...some kind of online business. Selling cookies, maybe. I don't know. What I do know is that Ariel's mom doesn't keep a box of latex gloves next to the tissues in her car. She doesn't pick Ariel up from school smelling like a decomp. And in the middle of the first grade awards ceremonies, Ariel's mom's pager didn't go off telling her about a decapitated body on Fremont Street!"

"But can Ariel's mom read a DNA profile or differentiate between low and medium velocity blood spatter?"

"Like that matters in our daughter's world." She shook her head. "Face it. I'm one of those bad moms who can't volunteer for field trips. Or come at lunch time and eat with her kid. And all the food I send to school on snack days and party days comes from the bakery."

Grissom finished with one sheet and started on the next. "Do you think you're the only mother in that school who doesn't spend her days in the kitchen?"

"Aren't you supposed to be on my side?" she snapped. Her anger deflated immediately. "Sorry. That's not fair."

"I wish I could say I know what you're feeling. But I don't. There's virtually no pressure to balance both halves of my life."

Sara scowled. "When he's old enough, I am so signing up Samuel for Cub Scouts. Let you mingle with all the perfect dads."

"I'll pitch tents from here to Barstow if it'll make you feel better, Sara." Grissom paused. "What would make you feel better right now?"

"I don't know." She closed up the dishwasher. "No, I do know. I'd feel better...if I felt worse about this." When he glanced at her, she went on, "I love my job. It'll never be more important than the kids, but I'm tired of feeling guilty that I'd rather work an extra hour to solve a murder than hand-decorate Easter eggs for Rosalind's class."

He abandoned his post as batter scooper, and came up behind her. "I think baking four dozen cookies now lets you off the hook for the next couple of parties."

Sara turned to face him. "Tell that to Ariel's mom. She wants me to sign up to make brownies for the next Brownie meeting. Cute, right? Brownies for the Brownies." Grissom blinked and she pointed her finger right at his nose. "See, when I gave her that look, she told me to smile because it increases my face value."

"Technically, all smiling does is increase your wrin..." Wisely, he caught himself. "Will it help if I tell you I'll love you whether you bake brownies or not?"

"I suppose." Sara let him pull her into a hug. When he tipped her chin up for a kiss, she gave in and kissed him back.

"Yuck." In the doorway to the kitchen, Rosalind folded her arms. Her nose turned up at her parents. "Why are you always kissing?"

Next to her, Samuel copied his sister's stance. "Yeah. Why?"

The oven's timer went off just then, signaling that the first batch was done, and successfully distracting the children. "They're ready!" Rosalind shouted. "Mommy, Daddy...the cookies!"

Grissom looked at Sara. "The coolest mom ever would not let her cookies burn."

That earned him a look. And the responsibility of giving Samuel a bath later that night.

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On the morning that the cookies were due at school, it was Sara's turn to drive the carpool. Usually she didn't mind the chore as driving two of her daughter's friends to school gave her a glimpse into Rosalind's social circle, a world that she instinctively knew would be harder to gain access to as the years went by. But that day she was focused on getting to the lab as soon as possible. She was at the beginning of a very public investigation and time was not on her side.

Ariel's house was the first stop, and one she was very slightly dreading. Ariel's mom always saw her daughter off, and usually managed, despite Sara's best efforts, to waste a few minutes on idle conversation. It was annoying how a woman who worked at home could be impeccably dressed and coiffed at seven-thirty in the morning, while Sara was still wondering if she'd remembered to put on deodorant.

Sara pulled her SUV into the driveway and plastered a smile onto her face as Ariel and her mother stepped out of their house. She reluctantly lowered her window as they drew closer.

"Good morning!" Almost instantly, Ariel's mom's expression went from chipper to concerned. "How are you?"

As they spoke, Ariel climbed into the backseat next to Rosalind. "I'm fine," Sara replied, keeping an eye on the girls in the rear view to make sure they were both buckled in. When she looked back, Ariel's mom was still giving her the same worried look. "Um...thanks?"

The blond woman shook her head sadly. "I saw you on the news last night. Do you really think that man..." She lowered her voice in deference to the children's ears. "...shot his wife and son?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation, Amy." She added a quick, "Sorry," to soften her words.

Ariel's mom tsked with sympathy. "I understand. My gosh...the horrible things you see, Sara. How do you keep your wits about you?"

She glanced in the mirror again. Rosalind was showing Ariel her new, sparkly pencil. Sara smiled softly. "You find a way."

As she backed down the driveway a moment later, she caught a bit of the conversation in the backseat.

"Your mom was on TV last night," Ariel told Rosalind with a fair amount of awe. "She's, like, the coolest mom ever."

Rosalind shrugged nonchalantly. "I know." She bit her lip. "Just don't eat your cookie at the party. Trust me."

They made a stop at the bakery on the way to school.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	18. Shots

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Lots and lots of thanks for all the kind reviews.

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

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"Daddy, what happened to your arm?"

Grissom glanced at Sara, but rather than help him out with an answer for their six year-old son, she focused her attention on finding the perfect spot for the flowers that had just arrived from the Sheriff. He shifted a bit and gestured at his son to climb up on the hospital bed next to him. As Samuel curled up against his father's uninjured side, Grissom searched for a reply that he hoped wouldn't invite too many questions.

Unfortunately, his nine year-old daughter beat him to it. "Somebody shot him," Rosalind said from across the room where she was tucked in a chair. "With a gun."

Sara's head jerked up. "Rosalind..." Her tone was one of warning, but even through the fog of Demerol, Grissom could sense that his wife's control over her emotions was hanging by a thread. It was understandable. One of his most vivid and debilitating nightmares was of getting the call that Sara had the night before.

Samuel frowned. "Why would someone hurt Daddy?"

"They weren't trying to hurt him, Sammy! They were trying to kill him!"

"Rosalind Emilie Grissom!" Sara spun around to face her. "Don't ever let me catch you saying anything like that ever again! Do you understand me?"

Rosalind shot out of her chair. "It's true!" she shouted. "I heard you talking to Miss Catherine! She said it was a miracle that the bullet hit his shoulder instead of his heart!" Her defiant expression dared her mother to deny the truth.

"Young lady, I..."

"Sara." Grissom shook his head wearily. "She's upset, too."

Fat tears appeared in the corners of Samuel's eyes. "I don't want Daddy to die!"

"Daddy is not going to die!" Sara yelled. Raising her voice only made her son cry harder. She put a hand to her mouth for a long moment. "Baby, I'm sorry." Looking at Rosalind, she saw that her daughter's face had crumpled. Sinking down to her knees, Sara held out her hand. "I'm sorry."

Rosalind vaulted into her mother's arms. "I was really scared, Mommy," she sobbed into her shoulder.

All Sara could do was nod and stroke her hair. "I know. I know, sweetie."

Samuel burrowed into his father's side, hiccuping. "Don't go away, Daddy."

Grissom rubbed his son's back in tired circles. "I'm not going anywhere."

There was a knock on the door just then, and Catherine entered. "Am I early?" Sensing the tension between the members of the Grissom family, she added, "Or interrupting?"

Sara stood up and wiped at her cheeks. "No, it's all right." She took a breath. "Kids, Miss Catherine's going to take you to her house again tonight. Tomorrow, you're going to go back to school." Rosalind opened her mouth to protest, but her mother gave her a look. "Daddy is going to be fine. I promise. Okay?"

Their daughter nodded and rubbed the back of her hand across her blue eyes. "'Kay."

Catherine lifted Samuel off the bed after he gave his father one more hug. "Oh, you're getting way too big, kid," she told him as she set him down.

Samuel sniffed, but slipped his little hand into hers when she offered it. "Can we have pizza again for dinner?"

"I think that can be arranged." Catherine caught Sara's eye. "I'll have them put broccoli on it."

Rosalind approached her father's bed. "Daddy...I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The combination of pain medication and exhaustion was getting to him. His voice was weak. "Be good for Miss Catherine."

"I will," she promised. "I love you, Daddy."

Grissom swallowed dryly and nodded. "Love you, princess." He winked one sleepy eye at his son. "You, too, scout." Catherine held out her other hand for Rosalind and led the children out of the room.

The hospital room was silent for several minutes. Sara cleared her throat. "Do you need anything? More water? Or...um...your pillows...fluffed?" Just like that, the control that she'd been maintaining a slippery hold over for the past twenty hours snapped. "Dammit, Gil...I thought you were dead! They called me and they said there'd been an accident. An accident! Like you'd tripped and broken your wrist instead of being shot! And they wouldn't tell me anything...they wouldn't even tell me if you were still alive!" Bracing herself with both hands on the bed's metal railing, Sara's tears fell straight to the floor. "I couldn't think...I couldn't breathe. I just kept seeing this image of you...lying in the morgue, and David explaining to me the...trajectory of the fatal blow. And inside my head, I was screaming that it wasn't fair! That it wasn't fair, dammit!" She looked up at him. "That it should have been Greg instead. And that's horrible, I know! But, god forgive me, I was willing to barter anything, anyone...if I meant I wouldn't lose you."

He hadn't stopped her, because he knew that she needed to get these things out, get them off her chest before the pressure did any more damage. Now, he strained his good arm out as far as it would go, but only manged to barely brush her fingers with his. "Honey...look at me." She angled her head away. "Look at me, Sara." After a second, she complied. "I'm going to be fine. In a week or two, it'll be like nothing happened."

It might have been a mistake to reach out to her with the hand in which his IV had been inserted. Sara took one look at it and vigorously shook her head. "No, Gil. No. This isn't just going fade into memory. You were shot! Three inches to the left and..." She forced herself to take a second to breathe. "You're going to be sixty next year. I know you don't want to hear this, but maybe it's time...to think about retirement."

"This is definitely not the time to have that talk," he quietly informed her. "You're too emotional right now."

"And you're not emotional enough!" she shouted. "Don't you care that our children came within three inches...three inches, Gil...of growing up without you? Doesn't it matter that you could have died!"

"My age has nothing to do with what happened." Grissom fought back, but his fatigue showed in every word. "You said it yourself. It could have just as easily been Greg. He was five feet away from me when the car drove by. Would you encourage him to retire?"

"Greg isn't my husband." Sara tasted the tears at the corner of her lips. "What if it had been me?"

Her question hung in the air between them until he'd gathered enough strength to respond. "Every day, we put ourselves on the line in the name of justice. And there's always that chance that something might happen. That we might not come back. I tell you I love you any time you leave the house, partly because I promised myself a long time ago that you'd never have to question my feelings again. But also partly because there's no way of knowing if it'll be the last time I get to." He lifted his good shoulder. "I try to make sure that the kids know they're loved as well. That's all I can do, Sara."

"You didn't answer my question. What if I were lying where you are...with a bullet hole in my shoulder?"

Grissom exhaled slowly. She always knew what buttons to push. "I'd be lost," he admitted.

"And?"

"And...I'd never want you to go to a scene ever again."

Sara's smile was soft and sad. "And I'd tell you that you were being ridiculously overprotective and maybe even a little chauvinistic." She sank onto the edge of the bed and took his hand between hers, careful of the IV. "So, what do we do about this? Besides accepting the fact that life sucks in its unpredictability."

"We don't let fear rule our lives. We see this..." He looked down at his bandaged arm, hanging in a sling. "...as good luck, not bad." It took her a second, but she lowered her chin in agreement. "And we put this retirement issue on indefinite hiatus," he added.

"Hiatus," she conceded. "To be revisited in five years."

Too tired to argue any further, Grissom let it go. They could pick this up again when he was fully recovered.

Mindful of his wound and the machines to which he was still hooked up, Sara gingerly lay down alongside him. She put one hand over his heart, comforted by its steady beat. "I want to have this every day for the rest of my life," she whispered. "I'm selfish like that."

He rested his hand on the curve of her hip. "It's not selfish." He didn't, however, add that it also wasn't realistic. The reality of their age difference was cruel, but their life together would be well worth the risk. "It's what I want, too."

Another long moment passed. "Don't ever do something as stupid as getting shot again." Sara's voice quivered. "You hear me?"

Grissom closed his eyes with a smile. "Whatever you say, dear."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	19. Crushes

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Well, I'm in L.A. and back online! A new chapter of "All I Have to Do" is in progress, for those of you interested, and I hope to get back into the swing of things ASAP! Take care, and thanks for reading! Oh, and I'm sorry about the page breaks. I keep getting an error message, so I made my own.

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

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She thought about it for days. She figured out the precise moment that would be best to approach her mother, and even went so far as to hold practice conversations with herself in the bathroom mirror, coming up with counter-arguments to any point that her mother might raise.

Her brother had caught her the day before, as she explained the situation to her reflection in her best imitation adult voice.

"She's gonna say no," Samuel had said. He wasn't taunting her, as other younger siblings might. He was simply stating a fact that, deep down, they both believed to be true.

Still, she'd felt obliged to push him out of the bathroom and lock the door. He was eight. What did he know? She was going to win this fight with practicality and reason. She just had to show her mother enough evidence that supported her point, and she wouldn't be able to say no. Daddy always said stuff about evidence being everything.

At exactly six p.m., two minutes after being picked up outside of Miss Betty's School of Dance after her Wednesday ballet class, Rosalind turned to her mother and made the announcement.

"Mom, I want to get my ears pierced."

Sara drove on, calm and steady. "All right."

In her mind, all Rosalind heard was what she'd been anticipating all week, her mother's firm and resolved "no." Indignation welled up within her. "I'm almost twelve! Every other girl in my class has pierced ears. Why do I have to be the only…" She stopped as her mother's actual answer finally sank in. "Really?"

"You're old enough, and if you're willing to spend your allowance to make it happen, I don't see why not." Sara turned a corner. "You realize it hurts, right?"

Rosalind had an answered prepared for that. "Beauty is pain." It was something Ariel's mother said all the time.

She thought she saw her mom bite back a smile. "And you will have to take care of your ears afterwards, to keep them from getting infected."

"I know," she rolled her eyes. "I will."

"And your father will have to agree, of course."

Rosalind's momentary surge of elation rapidly withered away. "Daddy won't even let me wear lip gloss on school days! Why do we have to ask him? Isn't this, like, a mom decision?"

"All decisions of this magnitude go through the two-parent check and balance system," Sara informed her daughter. "Run it by him at dinner, and we'll see."

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"Daddy, I want to get my ears pierced. Mom said I could."

Grissom glanced at his daughter, then at his wife, then back at his daughter. "Um…okay?"

Rosalind squealed with delight. "Thank you, Daddy!"

At the other end of the table, Sara's eyes widened, then immediately narrowed. "Gil, can I see you in the kitchen?"

The kids were familiar with that tone. Daddy was in trouble.

In the kitchen, Sara turned on her husband. "Okay? Are you serious!"

He held up his hands innocently. "What did I do? You said she could, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. Because I thought you wouldn't!" She pointed a finger at him. "But you sold me out, Gilbert."

"Wait. You told her yes on the condition that I agreed, as well, thinking that I'd be the one to shoot down the idea?" Grissom folded his arms. "Basically…you wanted me to be the bad guy in this situation."

Sara lifted her chin. "I thought it would be a nice change."

"Now what does that mean?"

"It means…" She stopped, shaking her head. "No. I don't want to fight."

"Sara, don't do that."

"What? Avoid a fight?"

"Avoid a discussion that obviously you feel is important."

Samuel entered the kitchen just then with his half-full plate. Grateful for the interruption, Sara turned her attention to the boy. "You couldn't do more justice to your green beans?"

"I don't like green beans, Mommy." He looked back and forth between his parents. "Are you fighting?"

"No," Grissom replied. "We're not even discussing."

Samuel slid his plate onto the counter; Sara moved it further back to keep it from falling off the edge. "It's just stupid earrings. She only wants 'em so she can look grown-up at Mr. Nick's wedding." His nose scrunched up. "She's in love with Uncle Greg. It's the grossest thing ever." He wandered out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

Sara and Grissom stared at each other for a long moment.

"So," Grissom finally said. "It starts."

She moved forward and lowered her forehead to his shoulder. "Couldn't it have started somewhere else?"

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Nick's second wedding had his first wedding beat, hands down. Not only was it held in a church, but there were flowers and music and even programs. Maybe this one would make it a year. The whole lab had their fingers crossed. And their bets placed.

A few pews back on the groom's side, Grissom was busy adjusting his son's small necktie, and doing his best to ignore the choking noises Samuel was making in protest.

On his other side, Rosalind sat primly, her ankles crossed, her hands folded in her lap, her new summer dress neat and un-mussed. She'd had Sara pull her hair back from her face to better display the new twin gold studs in her ears.

She'd been sitting like that ever since Greg, in his duties as one of Nick's groomsmen, had led the family to their seats.

"The Family Grissom," he'd said, with a big grin. "Saved the best pew for you guys."

Sara had watched as Rosalind's face lit up. "Guess what?" she'd asked Greg hurriedly. "I got my ears pierced."

"And don't you look even prettier now," he'd replied, unaware of the power of his innocent words on a pre-teen heart. Greg had offered Rosalind his elbow, the sweetest and worst thing he could have done.

Ever since then, Rosalind had been in a state of girlish euphoria. Sara looked back at the church entrance, where Greg stood with the other groomsmen. Excusing herself on the pretense of having to find the bathroom, she left her family and sought out the object of her daughter's affections.

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Greg, to say the least, was stunned. "Are you kidding?"

"Would I joke about this? We're talking about my daughter's very tender heart, here."

"Sara, seriously, I had no idea." A memory came back to him just then. "Do you think this is all because I gave her that extra icing at my birthday party when she was, like, three? 'Cause, remember, you told me to do that."

"There is no logic in a first crush, Greg." Sara smiled wistfully, looking back at the place where her family sat. "But they're not to be taken lightly, either."

"Oh, I know," he assured her. "But god…I held her when she was a few days old. I watched her take her first steps. She's called me 'uncle' since she learned to talk. I should be old and decrepit to her. So, why me? And what am I supposed to do about it?"

"I don't know. I just wanted you to know, because I think it's important that she not be led on. Crushes pass with time and age and experience." She gave him a look. "Of course, it wouldn't hurt if you hurried up and got married before her hormones really kick in."

Greg looked down at his rented tuxedo shoes. "Well…now that you mention it…"

"Greg?"

"Maid of honor, Amy's cousin from Georgia," he said, referring to the soon-to-be-Mrs. Stokes. "It's true what they say about weddings and…"

Sara threw up her hand. "I get it."

"But it could be more than a post-rehearsal dinner fling," he insisted. "She's thinking about moving out here. And I think…I might be ready to settle down." He shrugged. "As much props as I give Grissom for doing it, I don't want to be taking care of a newborn when I'm fifty."

"Just promise me you'll find out more about your Georgia belle before you pop any questions."

"You got it, Mammy."

The look she threw him was mollified by her smile. "I trust you not to break my little girl's heart, Greg. You're a good, good guy."

Greg kissed her cheek. "I'm crazy about that kid of yours, Sar. I hope to have one just like her." He paused. "Minus the crush on me, of course."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Way to ruin another potentially sweet moment."

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The first song at the reception was Peter Cetera's "Glory of Love." And it only went downhill from there. Nick lived up to the Texas country music stereotype with pride, after all.

So at the fourth twangy ballad, without a Frank Sinatra number in sight, Grissom looked out at the dance floor. There were only a few couples dancing. Nick's parents, Catherine and Warrick…Greg and the maid of honor.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one to notice them. Rosalind was staring at the couple, as well. And when Greg gave the woman a soft kiss, her chin began wobbling.

Sara nudged him with her elbow, and he knew what to do. Standing up, Grissom buttoned his suit jacket and walked around the table to where his daughter sat.

"Princess, will you do your old dad the honor of a dance?"

She rubbed her hand across her eyes. "I don't know how."

"Don't worry. I'm not very good, either. Just ask your mom."

It was a stretch for her to put her hand on his shoulder, but she managed. Grissom looked down at his dance partner. "Now we just move. And try to look like we know what we're doing."

Rosalind smiled faintly. "You're silly, Daddy."

"And you're a pretty good dancer. Wonder where that comes from." He lowered his voice. "Not your mother. But don't tell her I said that."

She giggled, and it was like music. As they danced, Grissom met Greg's eyes. He nodded at the younger man, and got a knowing smile in return.

Rosalind sighed all of a sudden, drawing his attention back to her. "Have I told you that those earrings make you look very grown up?" Preening a little at this, she shook her head. "Well, they do. Just…promise me you won't grow up too fast."

"Daddy," she rolled her eyes. "I'm almost…"

"I know." Grissom dropped a kiss onto his daughter's forehead. "Almost. But not quite."

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To Be Continued


	20. Tricks

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Another chapter of this story that was written on the road; this one was finished in Kingman, Arizona;) I do promise, new chapter of "All I Have to Do" is on the way. Thanks for sticking with me! Sorry about the breaks again.

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Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

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In his parents' bedroom, Samuel Grissom was on a treasure hunt.

It wasn't gold that he sought in his father's sock drawer, or his mother's jewelry box. It wasn't silver that he looked for under the four-poster bed or behind the TV. He was after something much better.

Candy.

It wasn't like he would be stealing it, he told himself. The candy was rightfully his. He'd accumulated a mountain of it on Halloween, having insisted that his father drive him not only through their own neighborhood, but several developments around theirs, as well. The result was a heavy bag of sweet riches, into which he'd only briefly dipped.

His parents had whisked it away while he slept, still in his monster makeup. When he'd awoken and found it missing, he'd been sure that Rosalind was behind the crime. He'd been so convinced that he'd barged into her room and woken her up, accusing her of Grand Theft Chocolate.

Rosalind was thirteen, and liked to pretend that she was above such childish things as trick-or-treating, as well as fighting with her hopelessly idiotic little brother. That hadn't stopped her from eyeing his haul the night before with what could only be described as envy in her eyes.

On that morning, she'd made an exception to her rule about fighting. Their screams had roused their mother, who had threatened to haul them both down to the police station for a "good talking-to" courtesy of Detective Jim.

"She stole my candy!" Samuel had yelled, his small body full of righteous fury. He was certain that justice would prevail if only their mother knew the horrible truth.

"Did not!" Rosalind shouted back, apparently less intimidated by the idea of Detective Jim than she had been when she was younger. "Why would I want your stupid candy? It would just make my head as fat as yours!"

Sara stood between her children, one hand holding the collar of Samuel's pajamas, the other firmly pressed against her daughter's shoulder.

"Your sister did not steal your candy," she'd said. "Your father and I are keeping it safe for you. You can have a piece of it now and then, like when you finish your homework early or make your bed without being told. But you are not going to eat it all at once, and make yourself sick. Or give yourself cavities. Now, apologize to your sister."

Apologizing sucked, but it was nothing compared to facing the reality that your parents were holding your hard-earned candy hostage.

So, while they were occupied making dinner one night, and his sister was talking to Ariel on the phone, Samuel had decided to take back what was his.

In his father's nightstand, he found nothing but a book with a title that had too many big words, breath mints, a flashlight and a tablet of crossword puzzles, most of the little boxes filled in with neat letters.

His mother's nightstand yielded even less comprehensible items. A book with a title he could read, but didn't totally understand (The Joy of Sex), pills in a pink package, a box of tissues, and a bottle of clear stuff that smelled like cherries.

But no candy.

He was starting to get a little frustrated, but knew from watching movies like Indiana Jones that the treasure was never just out in the open. You had to dig a little bit in order to find it.

And that was when he spotted his father's briefcase, the one he took to work. Usually, he left it in his study. Samuel considered it his first clue.

He pulled out manila folders that bulged with paperwork. It would be hard to hide candy in them, but like a true treasure hunter, he felt obliged to check to make sure.

He opened the one on top. It was marked with a date, a long string of numbers, and the simple title "CS Photos."

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Sara paused with her knife halfway through a carrot she was chopping for the salad that would accompany the macaroni casserole Grissom was pulling out of the oven. The hairs on her back of her neck stood at full attention.

"Where are the kids?" she asked him.

"Rosalind's on the phone in my study," Grissom said, closing the oven door. "Samuel's probably playing in his room."

Even hearing this, Sara couldn't shake off her sudden chill. "Oh. Okay."

He glanced over at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She tried to resume her work with the carrot, but her hands trembled. "I don't know."

"Do you want me to go get them for dinner?"

Sara expelled a breath. "Yeah. Please."

At the door that led into his study, his sanctuary of quiet thought, he could hear the bubble-gum laughter of his daughter.

He poked his head inside. "Dinner's in a few minutes," he told Rosalind. "Say goodbye to Ariel."

At the stairs, he could still hear her grumbling faintly.

"Sammy?" His son wasn't in his room, even though every toy he owned, from his Legos to his Nintendo, was strewn over the floor.

He passed by the children's bathroom, but it was dark and empty. "Sammy?" he called out again. No answer.

A bit of what Sara had felt in the kitchen touched him just then. "Samuel, where are you?"

Grissom entered the bedroom he shared with Sara. His ten year-old son was sitting on the cream-colored carpet, surrounded by photographs that he instantly recognized.

There had only been two murders so far, but most of his team, himself included if he was honest, believed that Las Vegas had a new and deadly serial killer, with a morbid interest in what lay inside a woman's body, and a propensity for yanking it out.

"Jack the Ripper for the new century," Greg had gruesomely joked, and no one had argued the assignation.

It was the sort of case he only spoke about outside the lab when he was lying in bed with his wife, after making love. It was the sort of horror he would have done everything in his power to keep away from his children.

Samuel looked up at him. His cheeks, still slightly chubby with baby fat, were drained of their usual color. His eyes, Sara's eyes, were blank. They didn't beg Grissom for understanding. It was as if his son had already accepted that the images around him were incomprehensible, and nothing could be said that would make them okay.

But nothing would make them go away, either. The murdered woman and her disemboweled corpse were part of his son's world now. As much as he might wish he could, Grissom couldn't right this wrong.

"Did you take the pictures?"

"Yes." His knees protested, but he knelt down next to Samuel. "The pictures are part of what I do when I try to solve a crime."

But Samuel wasn't interested in procedures. "How can anybody do this?"

Grissom shook his head for a long moment before he could answer. "I hope I never know, scout."

The answer was beyond his son's understanding. He lowered his dry eyes back to the pictures. The woman was naked, but her bare breasts didn't hold the faint whisper of strange excitement that the ones in the dirty magazine his friend Brandon had stolen from under his big brother's mattress had.

"Will they do it again?"

Grissom weighed all possible answers, and settled on the truth. "If they aren't caught and stopped, probably."

"Why?"

"Because…" Again, he went with the truth. It was safer somehow, even safer than the comfort of a placation or an outright lie. "…just like there are good people in the world, there are people who only seem to want to hurt others."

"Why?"

He lifted his shoulders. "Maybe they're sick. Maybe…they just like it." He held up a hand before Samuel could ask the question again. "I don't know why they do. It never makes sense to any of the good people."

Samuel considered this for a moment, before pointing at the victim's mutilated body. "Was she someone's mom?"

Grissom was so glad to be able to honestly answer, "No."

A frightening thought overtook Samuel; Grissom could see it in the way his eyes, which had almost begun to show signs of life, flattened again. "Could someone do this to my mom?"

It was the kind of question that kept him up on those nights after Sara had fallen asleep against his chest, and the house was unnaturally still. He didn't have to be sleeping to have that nightmare, replacing the latest victim's face with Sara's. Or Rosalind's. Or even Samuel's.

This time, he lied. Because Samuel didn't need to know that mommies were mortal, and Grissom didn't need to be reminded that life came with no guarantees.

"Never," he said firmly. "Never. Your mom is a tough, tough lady."

Samuel sniffed just then and launched himself at his father. His knees ached, but he held his son fiercely. Protectively.

"I just wanted my candy," the boy sobbed, letting go everything he'd been holding in since he opened the folder and found pictures of a woman's bloody, broken body. "I'm sorry I looked in your work stuff, Dad."

Grissom held him tighter. "I'm sorry I brought it home."

**csicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsi**

After dinner, Grissom helped Rosalind with her homework. Fractions were the bane of his daughter's existence. If mixed numbers and denominators were the worst things to ever happen to her, he'd get down on his knees in thanks.

Sara supervised as Samuel worked on his science project, a model of the solar system, which was due in a week. Every now and then, she'd glance away from the hot glue gun, and lock eyes with her husband. Her questions would have to be answered later.

When the final planet was suspended from the wire coat hanger, it was fifteen minutes past Samuel's bed time. Sara stood to accompany him upstairs, to make sure he actually got into bed, preferably in clean pajamas, and with brushed teeth.

But Grissom stood up. "I'll go," he said. "Rosalind's got this stuff down." His daughter sighed with a fair amount of drama, but was pleased by his confidence in her.

In his room, Samuel had already shucked his day clothes and was in the process of pulling a T-shirt over his head when his father knocked and entered. With him, he carried two miniature Snickers bars. Grissom offered both of them to his son, but Samuel pushed one back into his father's hands.

They ate their bite-sized treats in reverent silence. Afterwards, Samuel brushed his teeth extra hard before slipping into the bottom level of his bunk beds. Grissom had no idea if the crime scene photos would feature in his son's dreams that night.

He knew from experience, however, that there was only one way to keep them out of his.

With a fine mist of sweat still clinging to their skin, and their arms, legs, bodies entwined, Grissom talked to his wife.

**csicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsicsi**

To Be Continued


	21. Impressions Part 1

Disclaimer: (Most) characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: This will be a first for this story, a two part "moment." I hope you like it. Thanks for all the support on this one. It's kind of my on-going pet project, and it's always great to get feedback on it;)

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"So…Dad?"

Grissom took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at the girl in the passenger's seat. "So…daughter?"

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you plan on embarrassing me today?"

As he pulled into the parking lot of the high school, Grissom shook his head. "How could I possibly embarrass you?"

She craned her neck and looked in the backseat. "I can name about fifty ways and they're all mounted on pins and labeled in Latin."

"Fifty-one," he corrected her. "I plan to use the ladybug joke."

Facing forward again, she heaved a great sigh, as only a fifteen year-old girl can manage. "This is going to be a disaster."

Grissom pulled the SUV into a guest parking space. "Princess, it's a thirty minute presentation. How much damage can I possibly do in thirty minutes?"

"Have you totally forgotten the cockroach race in third grade?!"

"May I remind you, young lady, that was a rousing success." He turned off the engine. "And I hardly think I can be faulted for the fact that your biology teacher requested I come and speak to your class during your unit on arthropods."

Rosalind crossed her arms. "You didn't set this up?"

"As much as I'd like to take the credit for any diabolical attempt to ruin your social life, no, I did not. But I'm not going to lie and say I haven't been looking forward to it." He pointed at the school building. "Who knows how many future entomologists are in there."

"God, you're, like, perpetuating your species. At my school! It's mortifying! I'll never recover from this."

Grissom opened his door. "Love you, too, princess."

Rosalind slid out the passenger's side and swung her bag onto her shoulder. Her father had opened the backdoor on his side and was pulling out his insect boards with great care. She opened her side and looked at him, biting her lip guiltily. "Need some help?"

"I'm fine. You go on. You'll be late for homeroom."

"Daddy…"

Grissom glanced up and lowered his sunglasses. "I understand that you're fifteen, Rosalind, but every now and then…do you think you could cut your old dad some slack?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He waved his hand at her. "Go. Don't be tardy. I won't bail you out."

Rosalind scrunched up her face at him like she first had when she was six years old and he'd had a hellacious day. She'd wanted to make her daddy smile. It had worked like a charm ever since.

She turned to go, twisting back around a second later. "Really, Daddy. One to ten? Ten being so embarrassing that I have to change my name."

"Solid eleven," Grissom replied. "I'm very good at this."

* * *

"Hey, Roz." Her heartbeat tripled when Camden leaned across his desk to whisper in her ear. But she couldn't turn back to look at him.

At the front of the classroom, her dad was in the middle of his presentation. Even though she'd heard him talk before, and she knew that he got paid a lot of money to basically do what he was doing right now on a much bigger scale at conventions all over the world, Rosalind had been surprised to see that the kids in her science class were actually listening to him.

Maybe it was because he'd gotten the okay from her teacher to talk about the bugs he found on dead bodies. At least he hadn't brought any pictures.

"Hey," she whispered back to Camden. She had English next, and he sat in front of her in that class. She spent a lot of time there staring at the back of his neck.

"So, that's your dad."

"Yeah." It was the best conversation they'd ever had.

At least it was until Ariel leaned over from her desk and butted into it. She was doing that a lot lately, and it was getting on Rosalind's nerves. "I used to think that he was her granddad when we were little," she told Camden with a toss of her hair.

"Is your mom the same age as him?" Camden asked Rosalind.

She was about to answer, when Ariel did it for her. "No, her mom's a lot younger. My mom calls them May and December. Whatever that means."

"Maybe I can meet her someday," Camden said. "I mean, your dad's kind of cool. So she must be, too, right?"

Rosalind smiled. "Yeah, she is."

Ariel shook her head. "You'll never see her. She works, like, all the time."

"She comes home every now and then," Rosalind snapped, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"My mom works a lot, too," Camden said. "She's a corporate lawyer. And my dad's retired. He used to be her boss."

"My dad, too," Rosalind quietly exclaimed. It was like fate! "But he's not totally retired. He just doesn't go to crime scenes anymore unless there's bugs."

"That's really cool. I've kind of thought about being a crime scene person one day."

Ariel made a face. "Not me. Dead bodies freak me out."

Even though she agreed, she was about to tell Ariel that no one had asked her when their teacher suddenly noticed the conversation taking place in the back rows. "Would the three talkers in the back like to come up and apologize to our guest, or can they be quiet from now on?"

Rosalind avoided her dad's eyes. Maybe he'd understand and forgive her if she told him that the cutest boy in school wanted to be a CSI when he grew up.

* * *

It was a very quiet ride home after school.

Even though she looked painfully guilty, and that pleased him to a certain degree, Grissom wasn't upset with his daughter. Kids were kids. They were going to do kid-like things.

No, he was far more interested in the teenaged miscreant who had been tempting his daughter into talking during class. And he wasn't talking about Ariel.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Rosalind fiddled with the AC vents, pulled down her sun visor to look in the mirror, and adjusted her seat's position. When she reached for the radio controls, Grissom broke the silent treatment that had been hanging over them ever since he'd picked her up.

"Don't even think about it," he told her. "It's the Moody Blues or nothing."

Rosalind retracted her hand, and tucked both of them between her knees. "Daddy…" she tentatively began.

"Yes?"

"Do you think it would be…you know…possible for someone who wanted to be a CSI to, like, go to a crime scene? To see what it's like."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to be a fashion model this week."

"It's not me," she quickly corrected. "It's a friend."

"Ariel's taking an interest in forensics?"

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Not even. It's someone else."

"Who?"

"Just a friend, Daddy. Could you make it happen?"

Grissom turned a corner. "Crime scene, no. The morgue or the lab? Maybe. We have programs for juvenile offenders." He glanced at her. "Is your friend a juvenile offender?"

"No! He…" She stopped. "You always do that!!"

"Do what?" he asked, innocently.

"Find out what you want to know! I hate that!" She slumped down in her seat and turned her head away from him to look out the window.

There was silence in the SUV until Grissom turned onto their street. Rosalind took a peek at him, quickly turning back when he noticed her. She sniffed. "I'd really appreciate it if you could do this for me, Daddy."

"What's his name?"

"Daddy…"

"Rosalind. This is a non-negotiable condition of my assistance in this matter. What is his name?"

She sighed dramatically. "Camden."

A moment passed. "Does he have a last name, or is he too cool for that?"

"Flynn," she gave in, rolling her eyes.

Camden Flynn. Grissom pulled the car into their driveway and turned off the engine. The teenaged miscreant finally had a name.

* * *

"And you want me to set this whole thing up?" Sitting at her dressing table, Sara dabbed moisturizer under her eyes to combat the lines that only she seemed able to see. As far as he was concerned, she looked as beautiful as she did the day they met.

Meanwhile, Grissom turned down the bed, stacking their pillows in the familiar pattern. "That's right," he replied.

She watched his reflection in the mirror. "So you can…what? Scare him? Intimidate him? Distract him with dead people so he won't be thinking about our daughter?"

"Something like that," he admitted.

Sara bit back a smile. "I think I need to meet this kid. He must be really cute if he's got you this worried. Does he have hair that flops over his eyes? That used to get me every time."

"I'm glad you find this so amusing, Sara." Grissom got into bed and reached for his reading glasses and his book. "I don't recall Hank having floppy hair."

"Oh, I gave up flop after college. Switched to curls." She stood up and unclipped her hair. It fell in waves around her neck. Thanks to an excellent stylist, recommended by Catherine herself, there was not one streak of silver to be found. Fifty looked good on his wife. Even his sixty-five year old body recognized that. Suddenly, his book wasn't quite as interesting.

"If the boy is serious, it could be a great learning opportunity for him," she mused, untying her robe's belt too slowly for his liking. "I assume you'll want to be his tour guide? Or should I assign Greg?"

Grissom took off his glasses. "Whatever you think is best, boss."

She smiled wickedly and crawled onto the bed. "You'll owe me." Her fingers climbed up his bare arm.

"Yes, I will." He reached over to turn off the bed-side lamp.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	22. Impressions Part 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone still reading this story;)

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Hey, Mom?"

Sara looked up from her forensics journal; over the rims of her reading glasses she saw her daughter hanging in the door way to the living room. It was the troubled look in Rosalind's blue eyes that made her remove her glasses and set her reading aside.

"Hey, daughter."

Rosalind dragged herself over the couch and flopped down with a massive sigh, resting her cheek against her mother's knee. She closed her eyes and let out a little whimper.

Now Sara was starting to get worried. "Sweetie?" She ran her fingers through Rosalind's hair, stroking it away from her face. "What's wrong?"

"Daddy loves me, right?"

Sara frowned. "Of course he does." She hated the fact that now she had to wonder…what had her husband unconsciously done to make his daughter doubt his feelings for her?

Rosalind turned onto her back, looking up at her mother with pure anguish. "He wouldn't do anything to hurt me, would he?"

"Rosalind…" She shifted her leg underneath her daughter's head. "Sit up, baby." The girl did so, but slumped back into the couch cushions with her chin tucked to her chest and her arms crossed miserably. "What on earth would make you ask that?"

Her question went ignored. "And he knows that I'm fifteen years old, right?"

Sara raised an eyebrow. "He has a vague notion."

"I'm not a child anymore." Upon receiving another look, Rosalind sighed again. "Mom, come on. You know what today is."

"Saturday?" Sara guessed.

"Mom."

"My one full day off in two weeks?"

Rosalind threw up her hands. "Mother! You know that today is the day Greg is taking Camden around the lab!"

Times were definitely changing. Her little girl was in the throes of her first real, potentially-attainable crush. And even as they were speaking, that crush was being escorted around the crime lab by a man who would take up arms in Rosalind's defense. To make matters worse, he was probably not alone. Both Nick and Warrick had weighed in with their opinions about the teenage boy who thought he was good enough for Rosalind.

They were not going to make things easy for poor Camden.

And as if that wasn't enough, just that morning, completely out of the blue, Grissom had announced that he needed to go to the lab to do some mysterious research that had somehow slipped his mind the three other times he'd been there that very week.

Camden was walking into a pit of very protective vipers.

"Are you worried that your father or Greg might do something to embarrass you?"

"You think?" Rosalind snapped.

"Excuse me?"

She looked down, guiltily. "Sorry."

Sara forgave her by tucking a long, wavy lock behind her ear. "What's the worst thing that could happen? They're certainly not going to knock him over the head and stuff his body into the freezer."

However tempted they might be.

"I should be there," Rosalind grumped.

"You could have gone." Sara picked her journal up. "No one was stopping you."

"Mom. Me plus dead bodies equals puke." Her daughter rolled her eyes extravagantly. "Sammy's the one with the freaky morbid streak."

Slipping her glasses back on, Sara refocused on her reading. "I wouldn't worry too much. If Camden is worth your time and energy, he should be able to survive this. In fact, he's probably having the time of his life."

* * *

The boy looked green. And Grissom wasn't sure if that pleased him or not.

But Camden wasn't looking away from the body displayed in front of him. Watching through the window that looked into the morgue, Grissom read lips as Greg explained what had happened to the unfortunate man on the metal slab.

"Single gunshot wound to the chest." Greg pointed at the ragged hole. Even though the blood had been washed away, it wasn't pretty. "We can tell from this type of wound that the killer shot him from only a foot or two away."

"He knew his killer?" Camden guessed. He shrugged a second later. "I mean…he let him get pretty close."

"That's a workable theory," Greg had to grudgingly admit. "Which happens to be true in this case. He was shot by his girlfriend's father."

Grissom shook his head. The man in question had been killed in a robbery gone wrong.

"Wow," Camden said. "That sucks."

Greg nodded gravely. "Well, Daddy didn't take too kindly to his little girl being pawed at. Dads usually don't. This guy…" He gestured to the body. "He should have known better. If he'd just kept his hands to himself…" He sighed. "Tragedies can so easily be avoided sometimes."

"Um…yeah." Camden shifted one foot to the other. "So, did the dad go to jail?"

Grissom didn't hear Greg's answer. Just then, Warrick and Nick came up behind him and peered over both of his shoulders into the morgue.

"That's him?" Warrick scoffed. "Skinny little white boy." Nick nodded his agreement and Warrick laughed. "Man, shut up. You were one, too."

"Yeah, but I was cute," Nick argued. "This kid's just…gangly. And he's got floppy hair."

"He's also asking intelligent questions," Grissom interrupted them. "And my daughter thinks the sun rises and sets with him."

Warrick whistled lowly. "Not good."

"What's the plan?" Nick asked. "Are we nipping this in the bud?" When Grissom said nothing, he went on. "She's just a baby. She doesn't need some horny little kid fawning all over her."

"I gotta go with Nicky on this one, Gris," Warrick said. "I remember being fifteen. And I remember the only thing that was ever on my mind when I was around pretty girls."

Grissom nodded sagely. "So do I."

Nick blinked. "You thought about sex when you were fifteen?" Grissom turned his head to stare at the younger man. "Bug sex, right?" He looked at Warrick for confirmation, but only received a slap upside his head.

"They're coming out," Grissom said looking into the room again. The three men backed up as Greg pushed the doors open, Camden trailing behind him.

"Hey, Dr. Grissom," the boy said nervously.

He lowered his chin in greeting. "Camden. Are you enjoying your tour?"

Greg answered for him. "Hey, no one gives a better tour than me. We were just about to head to QD to look at some forged documents."

"Actually, Greg…if you don't mind…I'd like to take over," Grissom said. "Would that be all right with you, Camden?"

"Um, sure. Dr. Grissom. Yeah. Yes. Yes, sir."

With one arm, Grissom indicated for Camden to go ahead of him which he did so hesitantly. The older man glanced at his co-workers. Greg gave him the thumbs up, giving him permission to torture the boy in any way possible. He shook his head, and followed Camden down the hallway.

"Ten bucks says he never looks twice at Roz once Gris gets done with him," Nick said when they were out of earshot.

"Twenty," Greg doubled the amount. "He's got his game face on. I've seen it make gang members squirm."

Warrick shook his head. "And they call me the compulsive gambler."

* * *

Grissom led the boy to Sara's office. "Have a seat."

Camden lowered himself into one. "I really want to thank you for letting me come here, Dr. Grissom. I've only seen the morgue, but it was really…cool."

"Cool," Grissom repeated. "Dead bodies are cool."

"Yes." Camden blinked. "I mean, no. I mean…um...they're interesting. They interest me. Not in a creepy way!" he quickly corrected himself.

From cross his wife's desk, he considered the boy. "Do you know why I agreed to set up this tour for you?" Camden shook his head. "My daughter asked me to."

"Really? Roz did that?" Camden smiled. "Wow."

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "My daughter is very important to me."

The boy's smile fell. "Of course, sir."

"She's my first child. My only girl." He paused. "I don't have any idea if I'm going about this the right way or not. But something tells me it's my job to eliminate any potential threats to her health and happiness."

Camden swallowed. "Um…sir…can I ask? How good of a shot are you?"

"The problem…" Grissom went on. "…is this. I see some potential in you. Your grades and test scores are excellent. You've never been in serious trouble at school."

"How do you…" The boy stopped. "Never mind."

Grissom leaned back in his chair. "You want to be a CSI someday?"

"I've thought about it."

"Why?"

Camden shook his head. "I don't know. I guess…I figure I could be good at it. And it's kind of an important thing to do."

"What do you think about my daughter?" Grissom abruptly changed topics.

To his credit, the boy looked him straight in the eye when he replied, "Right now, she's my friend. But I like her, sir. And I'd be lucky if she liked me back."

They watched each other for a long minute. Finally, Grissom nodded. "All right. Now we can finish your tour."

* * *

Before Rosalind drove her insane, Sara kissed her day off good-bye, ordered her daughter into the car and drove her down to the lab. They arrived just as Greg was heading out.

"Where's Camden?" Sara asked him.

"Please don't say 'in the freezer'," Rosalind added.

Greg glanced at the girl's worried face. With a sigh and a smile, he reached out to tousle her hair. "He's with your dad."

Her expression went from worried to panicked. "Mom!"

Sara took a hold of her daughter's elbow, steering her to the front entrance. She glared at Greg over her shoulder. He flicked her a salute.

It took a little bit of looking, and some time spent wandering the hallways, but they eventually found the two men they were looking for.

Grissom and Camden were in the layout room. Sara recognized her field kit open on the table. Camden had one of her fingerprint brushes in his hand, and Grissom held a jar of powder.

"Just twirl it lightly. Roll the handle back and forth between your fingers," Grissom patiently instructed. When Camden did exactly as he was told, Grissom smiled. "That's it. Very good."

"I can see the print!" Camden exclaimed. "Wow!"

"Now." Grissom reached into her kit for a tape-lift. "Let's collect it."

"Oh my god," Rosalind moaned. "They've, like, bonded! Mom! Do something!"

Sara closed her eyes and laughed.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	23. Wrecks

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

Author's Notes: Big, big thanks to Mingsmommy for the quickie beta. And thank you for still reading this story. I haven't forgotten about it;)

* * *

Moments

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Sara couldn't sit still. Every part of her body screamed at her to do something, anything. She had to move, but she couldn't. She was trapped in the passenger's seat of her own car, helpless to do anything but tap her foot and wring her hands. Grissom hadn't even let her get behind the wheel, something she was still mad at him about. Having control over the vehicle might have made the entire situation more bearable for her. But judging by the way her hands were shaking, maybe her husband had been the better choice of driver.

She felt him glance over at her, but she turned her head to look out the window. "Sara," he finally said. "He's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," she snapped back, biting off each word. "He could be…" She bit her lip hard enough that it brought tears to her eyes. "Why wouldn't they tell us anything on the phone?!"

Grissom shook his head, and when she finally glanced at him, she saw his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Sara closed her eyes. "I don't understand how this happened at all," she whispered. "He was supposed to be at Jason's house."

"Let's just…not ask questions now." He turned into the parking garage of Desert Palm Hospital. "Let's just make sure he's all right."

As soon as the car stopped moving, Sara was out of it. She barely waited for him to lock the doors before she took off running towards the ER entrance.

They burst through the doors, and together they accosted the woman at the front desk.

"Our son," Sara said between gulps of air. "He's here. We need to see him. Now!"

Grissom was a little more coherent. "Samuel Grissom. We were told he was brought here."

After a quick search on her computer, she nodded. "He's in Exam 4." She gestured at an orderly. "Mike will take you back to see him."

Exam 4 was little more than a curtained-off area. Sara tried to take that as a good sign. Surely if his life was in danger, they would put him in a room with actual walls.

When the curtain was drawn aside, she almost stopped breathing. Because the first thing she saw was blood. "Sammy…"

Their thirteen year-old son turned his head when he heard his name. Half of his face was streaked with the stuff from a wide laceration along his hairline. He held his left arm at a very awkward angle against his chest; it was obviously broken. He had some scrapes and he would probably be black and blue for a long time, but he was alive.

He looked at his parents with wide eyes. "Mom…Dad." His lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry!"

All Sara could do was shake her head as she reached for him. Mindful of his injuries, she held him as close and as tightly as she could.

Grissom cleared his throat. "What happened, Sammy?"

Fat tears mixed with the blood on their son's cheeks. He turned his face into Sara's neck, muffling his reply. "It was an accident!"

Sara could sense that her husband was trying his very hardest to remain calm, but he was hanging by a thread. He kept putting his hands in his pockets, only to take them out a second later…then decide a few seconds after that to put them back in again. "How did the accident happen?"

Just then, a doctor approached. "Samuel?" He nodded at the two adults. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. Grissom. I'm Dr. Guevara. I saw Samuel when he first came in."

"Can you tell us what happened?" Grissom asked.

"Do you want to tell your parents?" The doctor gave their son a knowing look. "Or should I?"

Samuel lifted his head from his mother's shoulder. "Jason said it was okay…that his dad let him drive all the time." He paused for a breath. "I guess he meant just up and down the block, 'cause once we got on the road…he kind of didn't know what to do."

The doctor took over for him. "They ran a stop sign, and another car hit them. Jason lost control. According to the police, they would have crashed into something if Samuel hadn't grabbed the wheel and steered them in a soft ditch."

Sara tasted metal in her mouth as she accidentally bit down on the inside of her cheek. "Oh god…"

"You got in a car…driven by your thirteen year-old friend?" Grissom pushed his hands into his pockets. "How could you…" He stopped. "Do you have any idea how…"

His wife silenced him with a look. Still holding Samuel, she kissed his forehead. "You're safe, and that's what's important."

But Grissom wasn't quite ready to let it go. "Just where the hell were you trying to go, anyway?"

Samuel's reply was muffled by his mother's neck. Only Sara heard it clearly, and it made her close her eyes, as if to shut it out.

"What's that?" Grissom demanded. "Sammy?"

He twisted his head to see his father. "The body farm."

Father and son stared at each other for so long that the doctor finally cleared his throat. "We've thoroughly examined Samuel, and there's no internal bleeding. The laceration on his forehead isn't deep, and there's no outward sign of a concussion. His arm is fractured, so as soon as his sutures are in, ortho will be coming down to set it." He paused to give Samuel a serious look. "He was very, very lucky. Luckier than his friend."

Sara opened her eyes. "Where's Jason?"

"Surgery," the doctor replied gravely.

"His stomach was hurting him," Sammy said with a sniff. He looked at Sara with wet, worried eyes. "I'm so sorry, Mom. I went into your computer and got the address. It's not far from Jason's house and we just…" He hiccupped. "We wanted to see a dead body."

Sara shook her head, unable to speak for a few seconds. Grissom answered for her, his voice rising with each word. "You're lucky you didn't end up a dead body tonight! And for what? For what, Sammy?"

Samuel hung his head. "I'm sorry, Dad. I know it was stupid. But I…"

"You're damn right it was stupid!"

"Gil…" Sara warned.

But fear had turned his words into sharp instruments. "It's probably the stupidest thing I've ever heard! What were you going to do? Trespass on private property? Damage the integrity of the experiments taking place there? Disrespect the dead who've given their bodies to the pursuit of science?" He shook his head at his son. "Those people deserve better than to be ogled by a couple of dumb kids out for a morbid thrill."

Samuel rubbed his wet eyes. Sara tightened her grip on him, glaring at her husband over his head.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Someone will be by soon to stitch up Samuel's forehead. And there's a police officer around who will probably want to talk to you both. In the meantime, if either of you need it…" He looked at Grissom specifically. "….there's a coffee machine just down the hall." A moment passed. "Sometimes it's hard to see the positive in a situation. But Samuel is going to be fine. And his quick thinking probably saved both his life and his friend's." With that, he took his leave.

When he was gone, Sara gently pried her son from her shoulder. "We're not going to discuss where you were going, or why you wanted to go there until tomorrow. Right now, we're only going to focus on making sure you're really okay." She glanced at her husband. "Right?"

Grissom folded his arms. "I'm so disappointed in you, Sammy."

"That's not helpful," Sara shot back. "Not at all."

He shook his head. "I'm going to see if I can reach Rosalind."

"She's on a date with Camden," Samuel said in a quiet, wavering voice. "I don't want to ruin it."

Grissom pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. "You should have thought of that before you decided to abandon all of your common sense." Opening it up, he walked away, starting what Sara knew would be a fruitless search for a cell-phone friendly area of the ER.

Samuel's lower lip trembled. "I'm really sorry, Mom," he whispered. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

She kissed his forehead again. "Of course you didn't. But it happened, Sammy."

"Are you mad at me, too?"

Sara nodded. "Yes. We could have lost you…" She steeled herself against that crippling possibility. "If your father and I didn't love you so entirely, we wouldn't be able to be this upset with you right now."

He put his head on her shoulder again. "My arm hurts," he whimpered.

"I know, baby." She sighed, embracing her child. "As far as punishments go…I think you've been doled out quite enough tonight."

* * *

The chance of a concussion was so low that the doctors released Samuel a few hours later, stitched, bandaged and sporting a heavy cast on his left forearm. It was a chilly ride home, with barely a word spoken between the three of them.

Rosalind was waiting for them when they arrived, having nearly worn down the carpet with her frantic pacing. She'd only gotten the message about her brother after three hours of the blood and guts movie Camden had desperately wanted to see, and there had been little point in heading to the ER just as Samuel was being discharged.

Only a single significant look from her mother kept her from reading her little brother the riot act the moment he limped through the door. She decided it would be better to wait until they were out of parental ear-shot anyway. She had a few choice words for him that she'd rather her father didn't know were in her vocabulary.

With the help of a prescription pain medicine, Samuel fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow, but only after making his mother swear she would wake him up the moment Jason's parents called with any news.

Grissom went to take a shower after the kids were in bed. Since Sara didn't see herself sleeping any time in the foreseeable future, she sat down at the desk in his study, and began balancing the checkbook. She immersed herself in receipts and bank statements and invoices, but even the numbers and calculations couldn't keep her mind occupied. She just kept remembering Samuel in the ER, covered in blood.

She abandoned the checkbook and headed upstairs, suddenly needing to see her son.

But there was already someone sitting on the edge of Samuel's bed, watching him sleep. Grissom looked up when she stepped into the room. He couldn't wipe his cheeks fast enough; the light from the hallway made the tear tracks glisten.

Sara walked to the bed and knelt down in front of him. "He's okay," she whispered.

Her husband shook his head. "Our job wasn't supposed to touch them, Sara."

"Gil…" She put her palms on his knees. "He's thirteen, and he thinks dead bodies are cool." She smiled. "I seem to remember you telling me once that when you were his age, you performed autopsies on road kill." Grissom had no reply or defense to this. Sara sighed softly. "I know you're still scared. So am I." She looked at Samuel. "Right now, he seems totally helpless. But he's not, Gil. Despite what he did tonight, he's a smart, good kid. Just…maybe a little too much of a chip off the old block."

"I came down hard on him, I know. But I don't know what to do," Grissom admitted a moment later. "I don't like imagining my son living my life…seeing what I see every day…knowing how it ends up affecting people, no matter how strong they are."

"It could be a phase," she reminded him. "He might grow up to be a CPA. And if it's not a phase…would it really be such a bad thing to have raised a future scientist?" She smoothed his collar, needing to perform some physical activity to keep her hands steady. "The only thing we should be focused on right now is the fact that he's still with us."

Grissom nodded for a long moment, as though he were absorbing her rationality. "And figuring out just how long he's going to be grounded." He looked at her and there was life in his eyes again.

Sara covered her mouth to keep from laughing out loud and waking Samuel. "Of course," she said a moment later, her own tears overflowing. "That goes without saying."

They stood up together, and their lips met briefly.

"I'm thinking two months," Grissom said, putting his arm around her shoulders as they started for the door.

"Softie," Sara accused him. "I was going to say until graduation."

Grissom smiled. "High school?"

"College."

* * *

To Be Continued 


End file.
